


The Shaman Queen

by dovedovah



Category: Naruto, Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: BAMF Haruno Sakura, Blood and Violence, Competition, Crossover, Dead Uchiha Madara, Dimension Travel, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Ghost Madara, Hao Is Persistent, Haruno Sakura is So Done, Haruno Sakura-centric, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Obsession, Old Writing, Possessive Behavior, Rare Pairings, Relationship of Convenience, Romance, Sakura Just Wants To Go Home, Shamanism, Slow Build, Strong Haruno Sakura, unlikely partners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovedovah/pseuds/dovedovah
Summary: It only took a single glance for Sakura to spiral into another dimension, her scrapped fingers still tangled in Kaguya's hair. It took another for her to realize that Madara, previously dead at her feet, stood before her once more, ghostly and visible.When the only way back home is to become the Shaman Queen, Sakura embarks on a perilous journey to win the shaman tournament.(Or, Asakura Hao proves that there are other ways to gain the the title of Queen. And Madara, as usual, disapproves.)
Relationships: Asakura Hao/Haruno Sakura, Asakura Yoh/Haruno Sakura, Asakura Yoh/Kyouyama Anna, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 33
Kudos: 204





	1. Instigation

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite stories I have written, reposted from fanfiction.net. Since I am finally able to continue my writing, thought that uploading it here will be a good kicker for my motivation! Hope you guys enjoy!

.

.

_**17AK.10.10.** _

.

.

* * *

_**S**_ he once had a feeling that it would end like this; all four of them together again—Team 7 reborn. They stood before the floating Goddess under the bleeding moon that had placed almost everyone under its spell.

Almost.

Sakura decided she didn't quite like that word.

Almost. It indicated a lot of things—a lot of _pressure_ , to be exact. That small word alone made despair and hysteria swell in her chest as she was lifted into the air by her sensei's Susanoo, all the while glancing over her shoulder to check if her teammates were still alive, still _breathing_ as they turned their rapt attention to the final barrier between peace and the end of everything.

Her two boys, her two _brothers-in-arms_ , that were usually so different from one another, had never looked so alike. One shone like the golden sun, while the other blended with molded shadows. Even with all the clashing qualities, their eyes held the exact same emotions: raw determination, familiarity, unfiltered confidence, and rage. It pulsates through the valley as even Sakura felt the strong wave of her teammates' feelings wash over her from a great distance. She wanted to stand in between them, though; to look at Kaguya with the same unyielding bravery they so easily – and quite effortlessly – perceived.

Yet all she did was wait.

Wait for the _perfect_ moment to strike.

Her heels began to tremor with chakra.

It was _almost_ time; yet not quite.

Not quite yet.

Almost. _Almos_ —

She leaped from the very essence of the Sharingan's ultimate Jutsu.

Colors and sparks and electricity illuminated the area below her. For a fleeting second, Sakura appreciated the last minute light show Sasuke and Naruto produced with their direct hit to the wailing Goddess.

Sakura saw that she was weakened.

Even better—she was _open_.

And Sakura took that as an invitation.

All her life, people severely underestimated her and her more than competent abilities. Be it ignorant academy teachers or her overconfident peers: they always seemed to turn a blind eye on her blooming progress. Today, that worked as a double-edged sword. She didn't feel an ounce of offense or childish hurt by being disregarded by the almighty Goddess; rather, she felt _prideful_ as she brought her scrapped, clenched fist above her head as she slowly, slowly, descended from the very heavens.

An imitation of a slow-motion movie played before her eyes as Kaguya turned her bruised face upwards, staring into her general direction as she did so. The unsolicited pain was etched across her elegant features as Sasuke dug his hand deeper into her abdomen, while Naruto diverted his eyes from the maroon, gory sight; as if it was too hard to witness. And it probably was—for him. Still, Sakura didn't fail to notice his glowing hand cutting through skin and tissue and muscle and _her_.

The anguish screams seemed to encourage the pink-haired medic to commence with her surprise attack using more strength than was necessary.

To her—it was necessary, though.

This Goddess, this woman, this _beast,_ needed to stay down for good.

So she brought her fist down with every last bit of strength left in her bruised and beaten body; relishing on the satisfying cracks of bones and teeth, wondering just _how_ someone with skin as soft as hers could cause such a chaotic hassle. So many innocent, good lives had been sacrificed, and for what? For a madman's dream? For a centuries' long conspiracy? Neither seemed to be a valid reason for her to testify the rather pointless bloodshed of the innocent.

_No matter_ , she reminded herself quietly, digging her injured fist further into the split flesh.

It was almost over now.

_Almost_.

That word again.

It's funny, really, that those six simple, connected letters were the last thing on her mind as a sickening, swirling motion broke out before her tired eyes.

She had _looked_ ; that was a stupid, clumsy mistake on her part.

She had looked into those dreadful, cursed eyes of hers—those three, world-altering eyes.

What a stupid mistake indeed.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins frantically as she threaded her fingers through the Goddess' hair in a useless, feeble attempt to brace herself for what's about to come. She was certain that, if she took a wild guess as to what her fate was at this point, she'd hit a bull's eye for sure. Her ears had ceased to function properly as the distraught yells and screams of her teammates (even _Sasuke)_ seemed to be blocked out; as if she were deep underwater rather than in mid-air. Her vision – which used to be so sharp and precise – had become blurred, but the humongous swirl in front of her and Kaguya was still as clear as the night's sky. She took in a generous gulp of air as her insides started to bend and turn; a reminiscent of the feeling she had grown accustomed to in these past few hours.

_A Transportation Jutsu_.

A powerful one at that, judging by the overwhelming urge to lurch and heave her very heart out.

Colors and outlines started to slip, yet her numb and weakened hands still held onto the long tresses of the other woman's hair as the swirl enveloped them both.

Almost.

She had _almost_ made it.

They had almost ended the war with their combined effort.

The goal – _their_ goal – had been almost in their very reach; so close that Sakura's lips had already formed victory songs beforehand.

They had been _so_ close.

_She_ had been so close.

But now, she had managed to tangle herself – quite literally, she may add – in Kaguya's decisive escape plan.

And Sakura _swore_.

She swore if she makes it through this trip, all Hell will be unleashed.

* * *

.

.

_**1999.10.11.** _

.

.

* * *

_**N**_ o words could describe the excruciating pain she was in at that moment. It would seem as if her neglected body was finally catching up to her after a long week of near starvation and exhaustion. She tried to raise herself up, but her strained muscles began to protest—not to mention the quite audible creaking of her bones when she struggled to get on her hands and knees.

Hell, even the roots of her pink hair ached dully as she slowly rotated her neck clockwise.

Sakura groaned softly as she crawled and clawed her way to the other battered body lying in a destroyed patch of lush long grass just a few small steps away. But in her condition, it took her a great amount of Herculean effort to even make it halfway to Kaguya's mangled form. She tried, she really did, but her trembling hands soon gave out under pressure as she landed in a heap on her scraped elbows.

But she was so close.

She can't just give up now when she was _almost_ there.

Almost.

There's that damned word again.

Sakura gritted her teeth as she draped her injured, cut-littered leg over the other woman's blood-covered stomach; she didn't even care nor mind the new blotches of stains that appeared on her already ruined pants. The pink-haired medic observed the Goddess as she took in ragged breaths with a dull, unamused expression. Kaguya had her eyes – all three of them, thank goodness – closed with a fairly vacant façade. Sakura too cleared her face of any form of emotion that crossed her mind as she rummaged through her pouch, looking up as she did so.

Huh.

She has never seen a stranger skyline than this one before; the usually bright, littering white dots were absent from the inky night sky, even though there wasn't a single cloud in sight.

How peculiar.

Sakura stiffened when her fingers didn't make contact with the all too familiar steel of her trusty Kunai knife or anything of its kin. She exhaled loudly, breathing in through her nose as realization registered in her mind.

She was going to do this the old-fashioned way.

"You know," Sakura croaked out, feeling as if the Suna desert resided in the depths of her throat. "It's because of you that a lot of my precious people have been hurt," she explained with a rather nonchalant tone as she looked down at the white-haired woman, who was most likely sporting a buzzing headache from her previous beat down.

Sakura's facial features morphed in thought as she stared at her lower face, but still catching the telltale colors of her eyes.

Those cursed, _damned_ eyes.

_Sakura just wanted to—_

She contemplated her rather obscure, violent thoughts. Yes, it was morally wrong of her from a medic's perspective but as a shinobi that she undoubtedly _was—_ killing was just an unavoidable part of the job requirements.

It was a normality.

When civilian children – kids her own age, at the time – gushed about crushes and marketing goods, shinobi-in-training huddled up together, chasing away the nightmares caused by the things they learned and saw from their mentors and experience.

It was a _necessity_.

Sakura could have avoided this lifestyle; she was from a civilian family, after all. No parents or guardians had pressured her to join the academy at the ripe age of six or seven—she did that on her own accord. She chose to be an asset to her village and its military force—she was loyal and ready to give up her life for duty and service if that's what's required of her.

And that was precisely what she had just done.

She didn't know where she was; the landscape was completely unfamiliar and unrecognizable. It was already clear that they weren't in the Elemental Nations any more, or anywhere near them, for that matter. It made a strangled moan escape her mouth in realization.

She was in another dimension again.

This time, unfortunately, though—there was no point of return for her.

Or for the woman below her.

Sakura's emerald eyes hardened as she saw silent, inaudible words form on Kaguya's lips. She was trying to say something.

But Sakura didn't listen.

Oh, no. She wouldn't. She _couldn't_.

This was all _her_ fault.

Why should she listen to a woman – no, _no_ , she was no woman – that ruined uncountable lives, directly or not?

This whole ordeal – this whole damned _war_ , even – was all _her_ fault.

The lives of her friends, the lives of her closest loved ones and companions; they were all in shambles because of this vile creature and her minions.

Sakura cupped the Goddess' face with a certain tremor in her fingers. She took an audible gulp, the buildup of her saliva forced down her esophagus. Sakura could feel Kaguya's facial muscles twitching and tensing under her fingertips, but she didn't mind.

Kaguya – physically – was rendered useless, so the only thing the pink-haired medic had to worry about were the three eyes glaring at her face groggily and unfocused.

Ah, yes.

_Those eyes._

Without an ounce of hesitation, Sakura jabbed her thumbs into Kaguya's eye sockets.

The effect was immediate.

Haruno Sakura was no stranger to heavy gore; not with all the amputation and healing of particularly nasty and severe wounds she has been doing for the last month—or _year_ , to be exact. Her stomach had been emptied more times than she could care to count: the bucket and the trash bins have turned into her closest friends over time during the whole ordeal.

But it got better. Surgery after surgery, assassination after assassination—she just got used to the sight.

But _this_. This was different.

Her body was shaking, her arms were wobbling. Even her heart was hammering behind her rib cage. But she pushed on, dropping her weight down to increase pressure on her tainted fingers. Never had her ears heard more deranged screams and wails and cries and _screeches_. The eye, in particular, was a rather sensitive organ. So much so, that her own eyes began to water and blur from the inhumane kind of murder she was committing.

Kaguya's mangled form thrashed violently under hers in a failed attempt of shoving her off.

Sakura dug her fingers deeper into her skull in response.

Her eyes – so dangerous and powerful – were rendered into gooey and squishy mush.

But Sakura didn't stop there.

Far from that, actually.

She rose from her knees, slumping her full weight on her hands; the hands which held the Goddess' face in an iron grip. Sakura's face scurried up as she hissed and groaned at the uncomfortable, nauseating sensation she was feeling. She felt the gathered tears rolling down her burning, stung cheeks; so she closed her eyes shut to will the horrid sight away.

Due to this, Sakura failed to notice that the once white hair had reverted back to pure black or the drastic – and _quite_ noticeable – change in features and curves. It was only when Kaguya's screams dropped an octave or three lower than before that she finally noticed that something wasn't right.

So she took a risk.

Sakura opened her eyes with absolute caution before gasping at the sight that greeted her.

This wasn't Kaguya anymore.

Oh, no— _far_ from that.

This was Uchiha Madara.

Seething rage and unfiltered relief filled her being at this sudden twist of events.

Relief, for the fact that this must mean that the resurrected Goddess has been dealt with, and rage, that the man, who was actually the direct source of her despair and misery, is in her presence once more. Sakura's abdomen ached in remembrance of the almost severe injury he had inflicted upon her. It didn't hurt anymore, nor did it scar—but the mental damage was a true open wound.

Even when Sakura let herself be consumed by her thoughts, she was fully aware of the screams that were slowly – but surely – dying out.

" _Almost_ ," Sakura gritted out as she curled her thumbs further into the cracking skull, feeling the damaged bone there in between blood and flesh. She had to give him some props, though; no other human being could still breathe through the pain at this point.

But he wasn't quite human, was he?

No, she supposed not.

Any other person wouldn't fight against death the way he did; for some reason, he just wasn't willing to stay down for more than a few decades.

Sakura's lips turned downwards as bile rose in her throat at the worsening sight before her.

This time will be different, though.

This time, Sakura will personally make sure that Uchiha Madara will never be able to terrorize any of her friends ever again.

In this lifetime, or the next.

So she pushed and stretched her coated fingers to either sides, relishing on the breaking and cracking and _squishing_ an—

Something splattered on her face then.

Sakura blinked once. Twice. Thrice.

She couldn't hold it in any longer.

She turned her head to the side and vomited the tiny amount of food that she had consumed prior to the ' _main'_ battle. Her throat burned in protest at the ripping feeling, but Sakura couldn't stop her body from cleansing itself without her mental consent. Gut wrenching sobs and lung scratching heaves were the only sound echoing throughout the peaceful forest. Everything she had bottled in, every loss and emotional pain she had felt during the war, just spilled out from her mouth in unadulterated sounds and chokes. As her very being emptied itself out of her system – literally and figuratively – worries began to flood the vacant places in her very core.

Worries for her teammates, men she considered brothers, were dominant: were they able to break the ultimate genjutsu? Were the worries for the rest of the Rookie 9 and her comrades all in vain after all?

Knowing Naruto, Sasuke, and Kakashi—they definitely were.

Sakura let out a breath at that.

She released an empty, quiet chuckle as tears that streamed down her pained cheeks seemed to cease. Her very soul seemed to lighten considerably when she realized something. A small detail that had been bugging her for hours on end.

There wasn't an _almost_ any longer.

She had reached it.

Her goal. _Their_ goal.

It was bittersweet, this victory.

Victory – what a pleasant word indeed.

It was too good to be true. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure that this wasn't some kind of glorious dream, but the aching pain spread out across the full length of her body already confirmed that this was, in fact— _the reality_.

But Sakura had grown wary and paranoid and precocious from the various sneak assaults executed by white Zetsu. She could still recall how he had turned what was once a seedling of a problem, into a blossomed, sturdy oak tree of distress by transforming into her comrades at the dead of night. So she turned to the mangled, and – quite frankly – unrecognizable body of the former Uchiha clan head with shuttered pain.

_Ah_. Just as she suspected; the third, malicious eye had long since sealed itself off from her prying eyes. The pink-haired medic had to wonder if perhaps, the doomsday device had hidden inside Madara's forehead at some point. But the thought of cutting open the blood-caked skin and fleshy gore caused another shudder to pass through her form.

No, she was too drained emotionally and physically to perform a meticulous autopsy and check her theory.

Actually, the drained adrenaline took away her strength to even crouch as she fell to her right, expertly avoiding contact with her own vomit and the man's pooling maroon blood. She stared blankly at the long stems of grass as she breathed in through her mouth, considering her nose was clogged. As she brushed her fingers across the more weeping and severe wounds littering her body, she counted how many days it would take for the chakra she had spent in her battles to return to her. A pained and frustrated frown marred her dirt-covered face as she contemplated her next course of action.

She drew a blank then.

Next course of action?

There was none.

Embarrassingly enough, Sakura used to daydream – quite often, too – about what she'd do when this blasted war was over with and _won_. She figured that deep down in her heart, she knew; she knew that victory would be theirs from the get go.

And so it was.

But Sakura was too far away to even feel the glory and gal of it all as she laid there, peaceful in the middle of an unknown forest.

A forest that was unharmed, untouched, _undamaged._

It was a welcoming change from the rubble and ashes and barely cleared dust clouds she had grown accustomed to.

Sakura stared up at the sky, body paralyzed with exhaustion and eyes bleary. Something about it troubled her; it gave off the impression that a fire was brewing near her current location. But there was no smoke. None. Just a dull, brown-tinted skyline.

_Where was she? Why had Kaguya tried to run away to here, exactly?_

She frowned, puzzled as to why the buzzing questions seemed to die down to somber silence in her mind; as if her brain will soon shutdown. An uncomfortable feeling enveloped her body quite suddenly, making her wiggle around subconsciously for a moment.

Sakura was on red alert.

The very air seemed to grow cooler as she could spot the visible puff of leftover oxygen and carbon dioxide leaving her parted lips. She shivered, her skin tickling irritatingly as her muscles contrasted. Suddenly, her lungs emptied themselves as her hands shot up on their own accord. She yelped as her arms flayed up into the strange night sky. She felt as though she was a puppet; dangling from chakra strings as they manipulated her body to move and bend to their will. Sakura screamed as she was forced onto her knees, shrieking as pressure was applied to the more damaged of the two.

She couldn't think clear. She couldn't even move her own body as it refused to listen to her brain.

The only thing she could do was to see the world in white pain as she shrieked and yelled bloody murder.

But then it all suddenly stopped.

Her emerald eyes widened.

She heard a voice.

_His_ voice.

No. _No_. No, no, n—

" _You stupid, **foolish** girl_."

Sakura managed to blink on her own, confused as to how her voice had become so... _masculine_ , all of a sudden. It even sounded weird to her own ears; it was as if two synchronized voices spoke from her chapped lips.

Not to mention that it sounded like nails on chalkboard, too.

And the tiny fact that she was speaking in general at all.

Sakura hissed in pain and protest and anger as she rose to her feet, stumbling as the numb and sore and ripped muscles of her calves started to burn as if flames were slowly licking up her legs. Her arms swayed at her sides as she forcefully took a step forward, biting back a scream as she did so. Her head was fogged and dizzy. She felt sick. Nauseous.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

This _sensation_.

It was very similarly familiar, but much more painful.

It was something that had nearly cost her defeat.

As her body moved without her consent and her very soul seemed to be outright _penetrated_ , she realized that yes; she _had_ felt something like this before—more controlled in comparison, though.

Reminiscent memories of the Chunnin exams reemerged to the surface: the feeling of two souls merging with one another, the surprising amount of will power she had displayed then, Ino's victorious smirk being wiped off from her face as her _Shintenshin no Jutsu_ broke.

Oh, yes.

This sensation was very, _very_ familiar.

Sakura forced her eyes to close with much more effort than what she was used to, already bracing herself for what was to come next.


	2. Amalgamation

.

.

_**1999.10.27.** _

.

.

* * *

**_S_** akura glanced at a dimly-lit, glass display of whatever was trending in the fashion world in the middle of fall. A middle-aged man stared back at her; he possessed one of those forgetful faces that don't stand out much. A prim, crisp, wrinkle-free suit peeked from underneath the light-colored material of his trench coat. He looked like your average, everyday, hard-working Japanese man, whose goal in life was to bring back home financial stability and the occasional raise. In other words—someone who wouldn't draw any particular attention.

_Someone who was perfect to henge into_ , Sakura thought, retreating her gaze.

She clenched the handle of a leather suitcase just a little tighter as she walked across the sidewalk. She turned left, glanced right, and quickened her pace. The street lamps started thinning, and the occasional stray barking became more frequent. Sakura entered another neighborhood that was a tad glummer compared to the lively cityscape she had walked through earlier that evening.

The kunoichi stopped in front of a house; a seemingly run-of-the-mill, two-story house, with a cobblestone path leading to the main entrance. Sakura closed the small gate behind her, before pulling out some keys from her pocket. Once inside, the smell of burnt wood greeted her, breaking the illusion.

Sakura's nose turned up at the smell.

It was all a pretty genjutsu, this place. The house had burned down—and none of the passerby or neighbors could remember the roaring fire, caused by arsonists, only three weeks back. A hand sign there, a false image here, and Sakura managed to repel any other homeless person from invading her current accommodation by making the house appear to look like it once did—protected by security and the newest alarms, with a gleaming slate of metal that read out ' _BEWARE: ANGRY DOG_ ' attached to the front gate.

_Home, sweet home,_ Sakura mused as she tightened the trench coat around herself more snugly before releasing the henge. Smoke momentarily filled the patch-filled, burnt-down room, and the only thing left of the middle-aged man was his suitcase. Sakura peered down at it, before crouching on the charcoal wooden plank for closer inspection. She popped the lid open, sweeping her gaze over the stolen goods she had acquired.

She gnawed at her lip for a second too long at the sight. She recalled the shopkeeper's frantic yelps as he chased down a little girl without a shadow or a print from the decently-sized bookstore, leaving it abandoned, unprotected—opened for Sakura to just waltz in and grab all she needed.

The scowling man had been unaware that he has been subjected to a weak genjutsu not once, but thrice, and Sakura didn't feel an ounce of guilt for it. She had witnessed his treatment of the local stray kids beforehand; it had reminded Sakura too much of Naruto and his many misgivings at youth. It had made her heart clench and her grasp more firm as she tucked a few tomes under her armpit before exiting the store altogether.

Book after book landed on the damaged floorboards as Sakura was quick to unload her cargo. ' _WORLD HISTORY_ ', ' _BIOLOGY_ ', ' _WORLD'S VARIOUS RELIGIONS',_ and ' _ENGLISH: a BEGINNER'S GUIDE'_ joined her ever-growing stack, already consisting of ' _TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCEMENT of THE XXth CENTURY_ ', ' _GEOGRAPHY'_ , ' _JAPANESE LAWS and REGULATIONS',_ and a far thicker book titled ' _BASIS of PHYSICS and CHEMISTRY'._

Sakura was, in all honesty, downright _fascinated_.

This wasn't a regular dimension created by Kaguya, filled with nothing but a single-themed terrain which stretched out to a few square kilometers.

Oh, no.

This dimension – this _world –_ was so vast, so _huge,_ that Sakura's head had spun the first time she had cracked open an atlas. Sakura is sure, so very sure, that this world was already pre-made before their arrival that she had to wonder and ponder.

Why here?

Kaguya had come here as a last resort, as a triumph card. Why here, exactly? What was so special about here? Sakura could see the perks, could slightly comprehend the number of people on this planet, this _Earth_ , but she doubted that Kaguya would ever try to fit into society like she herself had attempted to. No, knowing her master plan on her own world, she probably would have tried to _enslave_ these people as a plan B of sorts.

_But how?_

A child's wail ripped the sheet of heavy silence, and Sakura shivered.

The kunoichi already knew that the tiny four-year-old of the Matsuki family across the street wasn't that big on crying, and neither was Yuri-chan—another small child living in the house right next to hers.

No, the wail was coming from above—in the bathroom across the hall on the second floor, to be exact.

Now that was a new development Sakura hadn't foreseen or wanted, and it was all Uchiha Madara's fault.

The thought was surreal and true. She didn't know how he'd done it – actually, she had a few guesses floating around here and there –, but the moment she had regained consciousness again after a frivolous mental wrestle, she was able to see and hear all these transparent people in the woods. She had almost fainted again from the ghastly sight, but over the span of several days, she had grown accustomed to the pile of ghosts clustering around the city like a fog.

Somewhat.

The small ghost inhabiting her tub was burnt alive in the house fire, and his occasional yells and shrieks for his mother and father never failed to send chills down her spine. She tried to ignore it, him, _them_ —but it was easier said than done; especially when her burnt-up floorboards started to creak, the sound barely audible to the human ear.

Her ears perked up as the sound grew louder and louder, and her nerves got the best of her.

"You're back," Sakura acknowledged warily, not even looking up at the ghost of the Uchiha. She didn't want to see him, for he was different from the rest; he was more solid, less transparent. It scared her, in a sense.

He looked almost _alive_ , but not quite.

Which made her more afraid than she would have been if he _was_ alive.

Nobody can see him, no one else could hear him, and not a single person will be able to shove him away from her, for he seemed to have chosen to linger about after she had regained enough strength to push herself up to her feet.

Sakura mused that, perhaps, it was because she had stored his body away for safe keeping and later research. Maybe that was why he hadn't found peace and rest and the ability to move on yet.

But he hadn't mentioned or said anything about it. Actually, he hadn't said anything much to her at all, in all honesty. He just... _observed_ , crept around for a bit, before performing his disappearance act once more.

Sakura allowed herself to dream over those short, private moments; she let herself imagine that her personified nightmare was gone once and for all—but he returned, _always_ , without fail, like a nightmare each night. It unnerved Sakura beyond comprehension because she didn't know what to make of it.

What was his goal? To unease her for the rest of her days as payback?

Sakura couldn't decipher him, she couldn't read him, nor did she know what his true intentions were, but she had this sickening, sinking feeling that the phantom of the Uchiha clan wouldn't stoop so low.

Rather, Sakura believed that he was reaching some unknown high; plotting and rattling, waiting out before the time came to strike.

Strike what, she did not know, but she had a few theories up her sleeves.

She rose to her feet as he grunted in return—an acknowledgment of sorts, she figured. More than she'd thought he'd offer her.

Sakura gathered up the discarded books from the floor, before walking towards a small, less-burnt shelf on her right. She placed the stack next to the other books, making sure that the wood won't give way from the added weight.

Madara walked to her, glancing over the top of her head to read the titles of what she had brought back today. The kunoichi felt a chill creeping up her spine at the proximity. His phantom felt cool and cold and _freezing_ , and Sakura wanted to lean forward, just to get away from the block of ice that was Madara's spirit.

The house, despite some gaping holes in the walls and ceiling, still emitted warmth from the past fire, and she was thankful, for winter was rolling in fast. But when Madara's semi-transparent hand rose above her head, a bone-chilling freeze ran through her recovering body. A sudden scrape above her head resounded through the small house, making Sakura's gears halt in panic.

He moved a book.

_He moved—moved!—a book_.

Before her mind could comprehend what had happened, the heat had returned to her body and the uneasy substance of his form receded. The kunoichi glanced at him, then. She watched with keen eyes as he tilted his pointed chin down to meet her questioning gaze. Dark, refined, regal, and _tranquil._ Sakura had to wonder if the awaiting, post-death tranquility she always promised her critical patients – the ones who still had enough conscious to be afraid, at least – was, indeed, _real_. Judging by Madara's ever-slimming hostility, that really _might_ be the case.

Dark eyes narrowed at her as if reading her thoughts of scrutiny. Madara's mouth tightened, and he let slip a simple sentence before he disappeared in front of her eyes once again.

"I would suggest starting with this one."

Sakura looked back up, paused, and let out a slight breath.

' _WORLD'S VARIOUS RELIGIONS'_ it is.

* * *

.

.

**_1999.11.03._ **

.

.

* * *

**_S_** he saw her memories behind closed eyelids.

Frightening ones; those that will stay with her forever.

She was in a forest, where the tree trunks were as thick as towers and as durable as iron. Snakes coiled around the branches—hissing, wounding, _nearing_ , and Sakura had the audacity to shriek and cover her eyes as golden eyes entered her sight. When no harm came and the sibilant sound faded into the background, she opened her eyes again, only to blink away starbursts from her vision. Puppets, covered in maroon robes and armed with poisonous blades dotted the clear afternoon sky. Sakura's foot shifted into a defensive stance, but before she could evade a single incoming attack, she heard the rip of cloth and a pained gasp. It was her mouth that had released that sound as a coated blade pierced the flesh of her abdomen. Sakura stared, long and hard and burning at those glassy, hazel eyes of his. It was the third sluggish blink that turned his scarlet strands into white tresses, and Sakura sucked in a shuddering breath as steel turned into metal inside of her penetrated body, shifting form and matter between the sliced flesh.

The setting sun was replaced with a bleeding moon, and Sakura found herself staring into familiar eyes.

_It was him_ , Sakura realized.

It was him who had dug the metal rod further into her body.

It was him who had inflicted so much damage to her world.

It was him who had violated her mind and body by blending them into one soul.

It was Madara.

The same Madara who was staring at her cold and drenched body when she woke, heaving and panicking. The very same entity whose phantom touch, at that very moment, was a comfort—a _solid_ comfort—, for he was the last piece of home she had left to cling to, and Sakura realized that for some peculiar reason, she was starting to rely on the Uchiha ghost—as if he were some strange guardian.

* * *

.

.

_**1999.11.16.** _

.

.

* * *

**_T_** hat evening, sat upon a make-shift chair, staring at her injured finger, she was unusually talkative. Madara, once more, lingered, watching with unwavering eyes as her thumb lit up like a candle's wick in mint green. When the light died down and her eyelids began to drop, she turned to him, face painted in an array of hesitation, as if contemplating whether or not to speak.

She circled her healed thumb with the other once, twice, before looking down at her feet.

"I-I talked to my summoning today," she admitted, and he stepped forward, relishing on the slight creak his spiritual weight caused. She looked back at him—eyes taking on a steelier edge as she gritted out her next words, the slouch of her shoulders squaring up, and Madara couldn't help but move a few facial muscles. "She thought I was dead, meaning _everyone_ believes me dead."

"That would be the logical assumption," Madara said before leaning his left shoulder on the doorframe in front of her, missing the usual numbness the simple action brought to a living body. Sakura regarded him for a few seconds, before nodding her head in defeat, pink strands jumping with the motion.

"Yes, but they are hailing me as a _hero_ —they're building memorials in my name, statues...even writing _songs_ and _poems_!" she exclaimed, fumbling with her words when she noticed no change in the ghost's expression.

He looked down at her, gaze pointed, almost bored and uninterested. "It is a given. You have eliminated the main threat; they will honor you for the rest of their days." Madara tried to pick at the burnt splinters of the doorframe, becoming increasingly bemused when his see-through skin and flesh went through them at contact. "Or, until a new peril arises—then the glory cycle will come around once more."

Sakura sighed in response, tapping her fingertips over her most recent reading material in thought. She zeroed in on the other occupant of the room, tilting her head slightly. Their relationship had snowballed from almost – okay, _not_ that almost – killing each other to talking in a civil, responsive manner every so often.

Sakura wondered what her friends back in Konoha would think of her now—confiding in _Uchiha Madara_ of all people!

Scandalous, yet, in her eyes, necessary.

She was starting to show signs of cracking from her self-imposed isolation; today was the first time she had talked to someone other than the Uchiha ghost in more than a month without blatantly lying in response to the most basic of questions.

It was beginning to take a toll on her, and the truthfulness of her next words just cemented her desperation for somebody to talk to—even if that somebody was Madara.

"I begged her to take me to her sacred forest, to where Konoha would be reachable, b-but—" a stutter, a pause, a shudder—Sakura was finally able to continue to talk. "Kaguya apparently gave it her all when she transported us here. Our dimension is too far away; I wouldn't survive the trip, even with my seal activated—it would rip me to shreds." She wrapped a stray blanket around herself, the late November air seeping through the cracks in her walls, figuratively and literally. "Katsuyu herself came in the form of a regular-sized slug; the rest of her didn't make it."

Madara observed the dismayed expression painted across the kunoichi's face, raising a single brow when her eyes slowly met his, a calculating glint in those emerald orbs of hers.

"She _did_ offer to plead to Sasuke-kun, however."

He knew she had seen it, if only for an instant so fleeting that she would have missed it with an ill-timed blink. The stiffening of his lips, before it vanished back to neutrality, the slight clench in his jaw—it had been a reaction, one that he hoped she didn't linger on for long.

"I declined."

The statement managed to catch him off guard, somewhat.

"You... _declined,_ " Madara repeated, tone slower than he intended for it to be. Sakura's response was a simple, frustrated nod.

"Throughout our ninja career, I always seemed to drag them down, one way or another." Sakura stared up at the dark ceiling, recalling every single word her summoning had told her. "Well, Sasuke-kun is finally home, with Naruto at his side. I don't want to be the anchor that weighs down on their happiness because they might feel obligated to search and scour every dimension created by Kaguya just to find me."

Sakura locked gazes with Madara, letting her words sink in for the both of them.

"Though a small part of me – the selfish one – wanted to shriek in joy at the prospect of going back home, but Katsuyu explicitly stated that it would take _years_ for Sasuke to reach me _and_ take us back to Konoha. I made Katsuyu promise to not to tell a soul that I'm alive, for now at least." Sakura stood, pacing around in thought, ignoring the creaks and squeaks beneath her sandals. Suddenly, she looked back at him, and Madara could allow himself to appreciate the famed will of fire burning green in her eyes.

"I'm not going to rip them apart for me—there has _got_ to be another way back."

And _that_ was the moment when Madara's true colors flared through his expressionless façade; his silhouette became more prominent, and Sakura wasn't aware that his eyes could still flash in that all too familiar scarlet. His hands rose in a grand gesture as he lowered his eyes at her, a smirk curling on his strangely vivid face, making Sakura want to take a step back from him.

"Then I have come bearing great news."

A sheet of silence fell over them as time seemed to slow down. Madara flexed his semi-transparent fingers, slowly lurking towards Sakura as he did so. Her gaze flickered from his hand and then back to his eyes before he spoke again:

"There is a reason why I feel so powerful in this form," he told her, raising his solid-looking fist between them. His eyes picked up the way his skin gained brightness when he moved his hand closer to her form as if eating off of her very essence. He tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder and, like on the night a week ago, it didn't _quite_ go through her.

He took note of that, cataloging these peculiar instances for later use while evaluating her reaction.

"It is because the Great Spirit residents in this world."

"The Great Spirit?" Sakura asked, puzzlement coloring her voice.

"It's where all souls go after death takes hold of them, regardless of origin. I have been in it once, and I can feel its presence on these soils. It is close—closer than I thought humans could be to it." His eyebrows slanted slightly as if he was confused with the notion. Sakura drank in the look, for she never thought she'd see Uchiha Madara so thoroughly disoriented, even if for an ephemeral instant. "But I assume it has something to do with our plan."

She recalled the last person that he had involved in his so-called plans, and she did not want to share a similar fate with Uchiha Obito. Sakura's mouth opened on its own accord, wanting to correct him, for she certainly did not, _will not_ , agree to any of his plans before she knows every meticulous detail of it.

Yet before a single syllable could escape her throat, Madara cut in, tone sharp and forced and worn.

"Tell me, girl. Are you aware of what you are? Do you not know why you see the things you are able to see?"

That question caught her off-guard; she wasn't sure what the right answer was.

"I–I don't reall—"

A bitter chuckle resounded through the house, and Sakura realized that this was the first time she has heard the Uchiha laugh, even if it did sound satire. He spread out his hands, leaning back with a toothy smile lighting his face, mockery and irony etched into his mannerisms.

"I have seemed to have made you into a shaman, congratulations."

Silence—defeaning, deathly silence, once again. It lasted a lot longer this time as Sakura tried to comprehend everything that entailed with his proclaim.

"A _shaman_?" The medic-nin exclaimed, laughter bubbling in her chest, but the bemused expression Madara wore made her throat constrict more than a little.

Her new sight, that fateful night when she and Madara spoke as one, moved as one, _became one_ —it all added up, it all made sense, it all made her sick.

She suddenly felt light-headed.

Madara had known, of course he had—and so had she, quite recently so. That book he had told her to read had held all the answers Sakura was looking for, but for someone to call her that, out loud with such confidence, made it all the more _real_.

Sakura carefully reached out to touch the phantom flesh of his hand that rested on her shoulder, feeling the limb weigh her down in more ways than one.

A breath in, a breath out, and finally—

"Okay, I'm a shaman," Sakura echoed, giving three short, disbelieving bobs of her head. "What does that mean?"

She was already well-read on the subject, but Sakura knew that the ghost standing before her could provide her with a better definition than the words written by speculators. Yet, the answer he gave her was more cryptic than useful and only served to make a shiver run up and down her spine.

He placed his other hand on her shoulder, folding slightly at the knee to level himself with her eyes.

"It means that you are my only salvation, and I— _yours_."

A slow, endorsed smile appeared on his solid-looking face, and he had never looked so _alive_ to Sakura before that moment.

"I can help you get back home." His tone was soft, persuasive, and his words almost managed to seduce Sakura.

Almost.

She smiled back, lips tight and curl sardonic.

"And how are you planning to do that? Does a shaman possess the ability to travel through dimensions?" She questioned.

"Yes and no." He released her, stepping around her as he talked. "Being a shaman is only the key. The shaman tournament, however, is the gate you will need to open in order to return to Konoha."

A migraine was starting to develop behind her forehead, and Sakura felt compelled to rub her glowing fingers against her temples.

"A tournament," she repeated, tone deadpanned, expression blank as he entwined his fingers behind his back.

"I know you were wondering why Kaguya came here. Here is your answer." Madara enjoyed seeing the realization cover her face. "I had heard every single thought that ran through her despicable mind, I know what she had been planning. Ingenious, I'll admit." He reclined upon her previous seat, dissatisfied that his weight didn't make much noise.

"The winner of this tournament becomes the shaman king—" a beat. "—or queen. He or she will be able to merge with the Great Spirit. Are you even able to comprehend what that means?"

An honest shake of a head.

Madara sighed slowly.

"Godhood," he told her, deep voice rumbling. "She would have become a true, living Goddess."

Sakura's mouth dropped into an 'o'; her mind was racing, heart pounding, and everything made sense.

Until it didn't.

"Wait," she interjected. "She was a shaman, too?" Madara's face morphed.

"No," he admitted. "But I assume that would not have stopped her."

Sakura knew that the subject of Kaguya left a sour taste in his mouth, but she couldn't stop the words tumbling from her lips.

"So, if Kaguya would have been able to enter this tournament, could you do that as well?" Madara shook his head; dark strands brushing, eyes narrowing, lips pursing.

"No." That single word made Sakura realize that, finally, _this was it_. She will find out the reason for his lingering presence still here, near her, with her. She took an audible gulp, the buildup of her saliva forcing down her esophagus. Madara observed her as if contemplating how to go around this. He figured he couldn't just continue dancing around the subject, so, with a heavy sigh, he relaxed the pinch between his brows.

"I am of the dead. Kaguya had a moving, breathing, solid body—only those of the living can participate in the tournament."

Sakura wrapped the blanket around her body just a little tighter.

"So...this is where I come in, I guess," Sakura mused before pinning her eyes on him. "But what about you? If you can't enter the tournament, what do you gain?"

"My dear Sakura," he tsk'ed, clicking his tongue against his teeth; he sounded like a disappointed parent, ready to scold their child, and Sakura suddenly felt small and scrawny.

"It is called the shaman tournament for a reason." He leaned forward, placing his elbow on his thigh and his hand underneath his jaw. "In order for you to enter, you will need a partner—a partner with an unmoving, non-breathing, ethereal body. In other words—"

"—you."

Madara's cheeks lifted with a pensive smile, and Sakura placed the last piece of the puzzle in her mind and realized that the final picture still didn't add up.

"You didn't answer my question." Sakura gulped, stepping towards the plotting ghost. "What do you gain?"

Madara looked at the girl with thinly-veiled scrutiny. She was slight and short, soft-looking and hesitant, and even though he was well-aware of her prowess in battle, it still did not satisfy him. He thought back, recalling his and Hasirama's reincarnates with a sense of longing. They were strong, far stronger than he and his friend had been in their own golden age. Either one of them would have made the perfect vessel but, alas, he got the girl.

The girl, who, undoubtedly, still had some potential there somewhere, and Madara doubted that he'll find anything better than her.

So, with a heaving sigh, he spoke once more:

"Life." He finally admitted. "You will have your home back, and I will have a second chance at life."

That declaration did not bode well with Sakura.

Not one bit.

Her memories rushed back to her; the crimson moon, the floating figure, her friends and allies wrapped around an eternal dream. Goosebumps traveled across her skin like rushing water and, for a second, Sakura _considered_. She considered letting loose the Kraken, granting him life, letting him wreck havoc on the dimension she held no love for.

Well, that wasn't necessarily true—she wasn't willing to be the cause of death to so many people.

She bit her lip, chewing on the reddened flesh, reevaluating her choices and options.

"I fought a war against your very cause," Sakura paused as if that very fact hasn't registered to her until that moment. "Many people—which I _knew_ —have _died_ just to stop you. Why should I believe that this time will be any different?"

A pause.

A purse of lips.

_Will_.

She said will, not _would_.

Sakura's teeth scraped her lower lip until she drew blood, mentally kicking herself for even _thinking_ of accepting his proposition, but the craving for her home—her _real_ home—was gnawing at her resolve.

"Fine."

" _Fine_?"

"Hn."

Sakura frowned; the urge to demand some sort of reassurance from the deceased Uchiha was overwhelming. She wanted him to realize the severity of the discussion, the importance of her comfort, and the finalization of his answer. Finally, Madara started:

"You have no reason to trust or believe me—"

"—that's putting it lightly—"

" _But_ ," Madara forced out, and Sakura reeled back at his tone. "What other choice do you have, Haruno Sakura?"


	3. Preparation

.

.

_**2000.01.07.** _

.

.

* * *

_**H**_ er hand was on fire.

No, not literally, no—but her skin felt as if it had been licked by hot, white flames. In the midst of thick, damp tree trunks and rustling leaves, the mint-green of her chakra was the only source of light illuminating the abandoned patch of land.

Sakura stared as her flesh and tissue knitted back together, her brows pinched in concentration. She felt something crawl over the gooseflesh of her knee, making her prop up in response.

Madara stared down at her, his face taut and angry and shadowed. A kunai embedded the soils near her feet, smoking and shimmering from the aftermath of their experimentation. A quiet scoff left his lips as Sakura sat up crossed-legged in front of the damaged weapon. She stared at the metal, serching for abnormalities, yet finding none.

"What the hell went wrong?" Sakura wondered aloud, fingering the hole of her kunai cautiously, as if a mere touch might cause an explosion to erupt in her dainty grip once more.

It wasn't supposed to do that, that was for certain.

But it did, and Sakura was wary to try again.

"It is simple, really." Madara stood from his position on a stray slump, tone almost bored and drawled. "Your chakra is severely lacking compared to mine. In order for us to move any further, we will need to become equal."

Sakura cocked her head back in thought, humming under her breath softly. That explained it; their lack of progress and development.

At times, she almost blacked out during their attempts at unification, and today, when they tried to do something different, the toxic concoction of their mixed chakra just, well—went _boom_! Exploded in her palm like a grenade infused with spiritual energy.

Sakura fastened her gaze on the hovering male, looked straight into his tinted eyes, and her pulse echoed and echoed and echoed in her skull as she processed his words again.

_We will need to become equal._

It only took a slight bend of his spine for Madara to block out the moon from Sakura's vision. She stood up, for the way his face unintentionally morphs into an expression of sheer superiority from her previous point of view made Sakura fumble and snort. The celestial light seeped through his form, reminding the kunoichi once more that he was, in fact, simply a nebulous entity.

But he was omnipresent, and she felt miniature.

Yet he crouched down, making them leveled— _even_.

It was a comforting fluke, she knew.

They, she and Madara, will _never_ be on equal grounds—period.

So, with a jagged intake of breath, Sakura patted off the dust from her pants and turned her eyes to look at his expectant form.

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

Madara crossed his arms across his chest, allowing a small smirk to play at his mouth.

"The answer lies within your friend's technique."

Sakura paused, rummaging her head for the piece of Madara's puzzle. Almost all of her friends possessed unique capabilities and illustrious techniques, but none came to mind at that very moment. She pondered a moment more, but the whistling, early morning wind answered the question for her. A recollection of memories flashed before her eyes as grey and yellow suddenly entered her glassy vision.

Sakura recalled the urgent training that Kakashi had provided for Naruto once the Akatsuki attacks became far too frequent. She remembered the weight of the food basket slung over her forearm, the clear, waterfall drops raining down from above, the infinite amount of shadow clones who assisted Naruto to master the Rasenshuriken—

_Of course!_

Sakura let out a soft, quiet cough to mask her embarrassment for not getting it sooner.

"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu?"

"Correct you are." Madara nodded appraisingly; a concious action, Sakura realized, which she craved and despised at the same time. "This Jutsu will allow us to save up time with your training. You will learn proficiency and gain experience quicker. Furthermore,—" he walked around the shaman fledgling, stopping in front of the abandoned kunai knife. "—due to the fact that this technique essentially splits one's soul, I shall inhabit one of the clones as my vessel for—" Madara stopped short, seeing the rising disapproval painting itself across Sakura's face. "—training and practical purposes."

Sakura ran her fingers through her short, pink strands, feeling a headache beginning to develop behind her skin and flesh and bone. She observed the Uchiha before her, and even in death his overall form and matter screamed _danger_. She saw his point—it was valid and it rung true, yet the overwhelming mistrust of the spirit before her held her hand down.

And that, Sakura figured, was their _true_ problem.

Never in her life was she able to perform well under self-doubt. There must be no hesitance in her strikes, no quiver in her healing hands. Her confidence was just as important as her will; faith was what won an entire war.

She had trust in herself—always did. But did she trust Uchiha Madara?

The answer, unfortunately, was no.

Madara claimed that their failure was caused by the imbalance between powers, but Sakura believed that their barely-there-connection was what truly undermined their unity every single time.

Sakura gulped, coming to an unpleasant conclusion in her mind.

_If you want to go home, you will have to put yourself in Madara's hands fully and completely._

But how could she trust him, of all people? Though, what does she have to loose at this point?

She was so lost in her inner turmoil that she failed to notice the sudden drop in temperature, the darkening in her surroundings. But when his semi-transparent hand landed on her head, she jumped, as high as she would allow herself. She looked up at him; startled green meeting flint black. Madara leaned down, as if to share a secret that no other living organism besides her was permitted to hear.

"You can barely withstand the intrusion whole, girl. If you," he grounded out, before pointing a gloved finger at himself and then back at her. "if _we_ manage to perform Spirit Unity with just a fragment of your soul, we would be _unstoppable_."

The words of persuasion slithered into her ear like a serpent, filling her head with entertaining thoughts and images. Madara, she knew, could teach her things not even Tsunade-sama could. He wouldn't do it for his own pleasure, but for their mutual gain. And this was just that—a mutual agreement between two kindred spirits who could not function singularly without the other.

And Sakura clung to that thought, for she knew Madara needed her as much as she needed him. He would not betray her, nor abandon or trick her, and that was what calmed her racing heart as she let out a shaky chuckle that resounded throughout the wooden area.

"You're impossible to deal with, you know that?"

"'Practice makes perfect,'" Madara recited, triumph curling his lips.

* * *

.

.

**_2000.01.14._ **

.

.

* * *

**_S_** akura couldn't recall being this uncomfortable in a very long time.

She felt oddly naked; naked without anything to mask her outlandish, memorable appearance from public view with. Finally, she had deemed transformation unnecessary—the pile of stolen goods had satisfied her thirst for knowledge and her basic human needs. Furthermore, the comforting weight of the wallet stuffed in her vest's pocket reassured her that she had no further use for the Henge no Jutsu in the near future.

Yet Sakura continued to shift in her seat, shoulders slouched, head ducked down. The reaction wasn't caused by the lingering stares of the other occupants of the food joint, nor the cold sweat gathering at her brow.

No, the company she held was the cause of her distress and discontent.

"You look a tad bit pale, Haruno," Madara stated, a slight mock to his tone as he grabbed— _grabbed_ —a fry from its container. Sakura glared at him, a frown marring her face as she did so.

It was surreal, to look at him in this state.

He was solid and human; breathing and feeling and consuming.

Sakura had found herself lost in his image a few times over the course of their little shindig. It felt eerie that the spirit who had haunted her for the past three months appeared so alive and well. His long hair appeared blacker than ever, the slight tan he possessed absorbed the artificial light of the establishment. She could make out a drop or two of sweat on his neck, too, and Sakura realized that the strain she was feeling transferred to her clone as well, whose body was altered and occupied by the Uchiha ghost.

It took them three days and the constant pump of Sakura's chakra to sustain a single clone for more than three hours with Madara merged into the equation. She had transformed her carbon copy to appear as the legendary shinobi, albeit with some complaints on his part.

(Sakura argued that they had to fit in; Madara kept professing his dissatisfaction for her fashion sense.)

"You do have to admit that your taste in clothes is less than commendable."

"Stay out of my head, why don't you?"

"Oh, believe me, girl—I would if I could."

This was also a new development that they had immediately noticed in the first few minutes of successful Spirit Unity. Not only do their spirits and bodies mingle as one, but so do their minds. Not only that, but the ideas she processed in her own head seemed to mirror the trail of thoughts running through her clone's, which, she supposed, was a given—they were essentially one and the same, after all.

Sakura, once her shadow clones had dispersed after high pressure, too, had seen images and memories that surely did not belong to her, and that had made Madara sour and cold and distant—more so than usual.

But Sakura saw it; the way Madara flourished in the warmth of her living flesh, the way he grasped the plastic cup of his drink with more force than required—just to reassure himself that he _could_.

He wanted life more than he wanted to keep his stray musings from her, and Sakura thought that was the best insurance she could receive.

He has become more compliant, more tamed, for he knew that at any moment the body he resided in might disappear from existence. This new-found willingness to cooperate with the kunoichi, however small that was, had done wonders for their training.

But even with their recent success, Sakura felt weighed down by something.

"So, how many times will we have to do _that_ again for our chakra levels to be on par with one another?"

Madara looked past the menu at her, eyes calculating, mouth tightening.

"It all depends," he answered, turning a page. "As you said, you've been storing chakra for three whole years into that nifty seal of yours." He pointed at the purple diamond centered on her forehead. "Your chakra control is good but gradual. You are not used to big chunks of chakra suddenly appearing inside of you—you need time to digest it."

Sakura bit her lip, nodding in acknowledgement of his observations.

"So, what you're trying to say is that—" Sakura gulped, her throat suddenly dry and constricting. "—you'll drown me—"

"— _nearly_ drown you—"

"Yes, well." Sakura cleared her throat. She recalled yesterday's events with the upmost clarity; his solid hand guiding her head underwater, the vice grip on her strands, until her limbs started to slack, and her lungs filled with water. Her main priority became the existence of the single shadow clone produced which Madara occupied, for if Madara disappeared before pulling her back up, she, too, would have promptly disappeared from existence.

"That was too close for comfort. So, _nearly_ drown me a handful of times so that my chakra levels will...expand?"

An affirmative hum met her question as Madara plucked another fry out of her platter. "I will admit—that little incident, which bothers you so, had only been a test to confirm my assumptions. Now that it turned out to be positive, I am able to think of more..." he trailed off, meeting her hard, disdainful glare with a mean smirk. " _safer_ methods to progress with our plans."

"You better," Sakura placed her bare elbow on the table top, internally cringing at the sticky feel of the surface as Madara widened his smirk at her reaction. "'Cause remember—if I die, you loose your partner in crime."

"Noted." Madara drummed the edge of the wooden piece of furniture, relishing in the feel and sound he was able to produce.

"And do keep in mind, this will only serve to benefit you in the end—more so than you probably deserve."

She begrudgingly admitted that what Madara said was an objective fact—their difference in chakra supplies was too huge, too straining, and Sakura felt herself beginning to tremble ever so slightly. Her fist clenched, her seal pulsed, and Madara noticed she was at her wit's end for today.

With a heavy sigh, he stood from the red, leather cushion of the booth they were seated in and walked towards the men's restroom. Sakura looked on until his form fully disappeared behind the white door before finally uttering ' _release_ ' under her breath.

Almost immediately, her hands shot up to her forehead, and the breath left her lungs in a single gasp. A flood of new memories and thoughts and experiences rushed to her head, engraving themselves into her brain, carving up her mind and stimulating her body.

She saw herself from Madara's—her clone's—eyes; how she had to crane her neck to look up at him, how he noticed the tremor in her shoulders from her breaking concentration—she would never be able to trick the Uchiha, for he proved to be a tad too observant, cataloguing the little things with care and precision for later use.

But Sakura also saw the stray images, no matter how fleeting, that had crossed his mind, and she doubted that the blood beneath the skin of her cheeks was likely to cool anytime soon.

She supposed it was only natural; his carnal memories of flesh touching flesh, the taste, the smell, the _sound_ —Sakura wondered how it would feel to go about without a solid carcass for as long as he had. How long would she be able to wander around, deprived of the things so many take for granted because they appear so basic, so integrated?

Uncomfortably enough, those quick flashes from the past made Sakura feel a tad bit closer and connected to the Uchiha ghost, for she now fully realized that beneath the maroon armor lied a simple man—even if once upon a time ago.

She was so deeply engrossed in her slightly perverse thoughts and the digestion of the newly-acquired information that Sakura failed to notice that Madara had disappeared on her once more, but the telltale presence of a spirit still lingered heavily in the air.

Her head rose up, eyes shifting, searching, until they landed upon the newly arrived duo of boys. She tried to keep her gaze locked on the taller male's smooth, tanned face, but the hovering spirit behind him caused her mint-green eyes to involuntarily flicker up.

Sakura sucked in a breath, trying to discreetly take in the samurai ghost without being caught, for the manner in which the brunet boy and the spirit carried themselves led Sakura to believe that they aren't dissimilar to her and Madara. He donned something akin to the armor she herself had seen numerous times worn in her own land, light hair tied up in a ponytail, twin swords attached to his person. He did not appear to be as menacing as her own companion spirit; rather, he gazed at the taller boy with sympathy and compassion as the human dragged his feet to a stray booth, limbs hanging from the weights strapped to them.

_(He's training,_ Sakura realized, noticing how the white shirt hung from his body, drenched in sweat and rain. _Could he be preparing for the tournament as well?)_

Sakura had never seen a shaman before—aside from herself, of course. The images provided in her books showed old, wrinkled faces and bright, knowledgeable eyes, and Sakura felt as if she couldn't relate. However, seeing this boy, who was around her age, sweating and training and hard-working made her realize that that was just a stigma—anyone could be a shaman.

Sakura felt conflicted.

Should she try to chat the boy up? Should she pretend she hasn't seen anything at all? She hasn't been caught yet, and that provided her with an escape window. But they looked harmless enough, what with their short companion in tow who had a thick book tucked under his small arm.

Sakura observed them for another few minutes, and over those few hundred of seconds, the brown-haired boy had managed to cry twice—once when the shorter boy mentioned his diet, and the other time when the waitress brought him a cheeseburger.

He was...peculiar, Sakura had to admit, but she figured she might as well acquire more information about this shaman tournament, for the only source she had was Madara, and she doubted that his information was wholly genuine and not riddled with holes of deceit.

So, after waiting another minute or so, Sakura arose from her seat, fixed her wrinkled clothes into place and walked up to the occupied booth across the establishment. Two— _three_ —heads turned towards her at the intrusion, and the pinkette realized she hadn't thought this through to the end.

With a sheepish smile and her hand locking on the dampness of her neck, Sakura bowed.

"Sorry for interrupting, I..." Sakura paused, deciding on the route she wanted to go on. "I couldn't help noticing the samurai spirit trailing behind you."

Uncomfortable silence blanketed the four, until the taller boy slowly flexed his fingers, the pointer directing at the ghost besides him.

"You can see Amidamaru?" Sakura cocked her head slightly at his tone; his voice was calm and soothing and unfazed by her opening line like his short friend was.

Sakura nodded in response, and Asakura Yoh sported a wide, welcoming smile.

"Uh, he kinda has to, considering he's my guardian spirit."

"Guardian spirit, huh," Sakura muttered to herself, rolling the title off her tongue. Her lips curled at one side once she added the two words to Madara.

Guarding was the last adjective she would have used for the Uchiha spirit.

"Yeah." He gave a short chuckle as his companion continued to glare at her, big eyes guarded and untrusting. "Since you can see Amidamaru over here, are you a shaman as well?"

_As well._

Sakura clicked her tongue as her guess proved to be correct.

"I am," Sakura confirmed, giving the three a slight smile. "I was hoping you could answer some questions? I'm, uh, not that familiar with being a shaman as I would like to be."

"Sure!—"

"— _Yoh_ —"

"—It's alright, Manta," Yoh assured his friend, Manta, with another bright smile. "She wouldn't have come here asking questions if she meant harm." Yoh turned to look at Sakura for confirmation before adjusting the orange headphones draped around his neck. "What's your name? Here—" he tapped the empty space besides him. "Take a seat."

"I..." Sakura hesitated for a moment before yielding. "Sure."

The four—technically three—sat around the booth, feeling awkward and out of place, except for Yoh, who turned his body sideways to gaze at the pink-haired girl, and Sakura contemplated on a name—her name.

Sakura saw no point of holding back this particular piece of information; she figured if she and him were to join the tournament, he was going to find out eventually, one way or another.

It didn't matter—a name is nameless when you're unknown. Her name won't ring any bells, won't inspire emotions nor light any fires. She was just a girl to them; a girl who was as odd as her appearance, as tranquil as her companion ghost, seemingly without a care or history.

(That was not true, of course. She did indeed possess that which fueled her drive each and every day: her home, her origin, her enigma—none of which she will reveal to anyone on this dimension's soils.)

She outstretched her hand, and Yoh met her halfway.

"Haruno Sakura. Nice to meet you."

* * *

.

.

**_2000.01.16_ **

.

.

* * *

" ** _W_** ell?"

"Wait for it."

"Wait for what, Sakura-sama?"

"I wasn't speaking to you, Katsuyu-sama. I was talking to someone you can't see." The response sounded cryptic, but to the ghost and human, it was perfectly reasonable.

He frowned at the girl who sat on the forest floor, a larger than average slug lounging on her shoulder. No trees shielded the inky night's sky, and Madara supposed that was the purpose of them being here; the heavens above Tokyo were polluted, a rustic lens hovering above the city in retribution to the harm humanity has caused over the recent decades.

He sat next to her in the clearing, his ethereal form barely disturbing the blades of grass beneath him. He looked at the sky, at the bright celestial bodies and constellations. Madara turned to her, relishing on the way she shivered from his phantom temperature.

"I take it your little chat with Asakura Yoh proved to be productive?"

Sakura whipped her head in response, and Katsuyu swayed from the sudden movement, surprised and confused and silent.

"You knew?"

Madara sneered at her words.

"Of course I did," Madara scoffed, tilting his head down to gaze at the kunoichi with more intensity than necessary. "Did you really think that your little run-in was a mere coincidence? I've been observing the little shaman fledgling for a while now—he does not seem to possess a sense of self-preservation, what with his surname attracting powerful shamans like fire does a moth."

Sakura stared at the Uchiha ghost, flabbergast and gaping. She took in a deep breath, buried her hands into the empty pockets of her red, fur-trimmed vest and looked up into the star-filled sky.

"And you failed to mention this because..?" Sakura muttered mutely, puffing out the air out of her lungs, shaking her head in dismissal. "And what do you mean by his surname attracts shamans?" She questioned, returning her gaze to the semi-transparent ghost.

"I heard a whisper or two going around," Madara answered nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal, throwing his shoulders back. "As it turns out, the Asakura family is famed amongst shamans all across the world for the long line of power and potential it was able to produce—not to mention their accomplishments during the tournament."

Sakura digested his words, turning the syllables over in her head until a slight, mischievous glint entered her green gaze. "So, basically, this is the Earth's equivalent of the Uchiha clan?"

And Madara grimaced in response, yet his eyes shared the same light that hers held.

"Perhaps more so than you would think, Haruno."

Katsuyu stared at her mistress, optical tentacles following the direction Sakura stared at with an intense gaze and a tight mouth.

The slug was, in a sense, only minimally familiar with Sakura's unorthodox predicament, and the pinkette's inclination to withhold information, for whatever reason, caused Katsuyu a feeling of distress.

Sakura was conversing with someone, that much she could tell. With who—the summoning had no idea.

But she was aware of what the girl was waiting for in the middle of the small clearing, and that eased her mind, more or less.

By Sakura's request, Katsuyu had started to relocate herself and her makeshift colony closer to the kunoichi—one half of her essence was scattered across Earth, while the other made home on a nearby dimension which was able to sustain her life force.

It had taken months, but Katsuyu was finally, _finally_ , able to regenerate to her original, standard size after the dimensional tear she had experienced whilst coming here. But to her—it was worth it, for the only way for Sakura to go back to the leaf (to Tsunade, to Shizune, to Team 7) was to win the tournament, and the legendary summoning vowed and swore on her contract to assist in any way she can.

This very pledge had prompted Sakura to get down on her knees on the moss-covered ground so she could whisper to Katsuyu a few weeks back.

_(Scout the forest for any mentions of a shaman tournament,_ Sakura had instructed. _Shamans tend to live one with nature as apostates—your presence would be inconspicuous._ )

And she was right—Katsuyu became the perfect spy.

She had only been minding her own business, really; eating and sleeping and reproducing her form across the country. But the human whispers by the campfires had drawn her attention to listen in, and she was glad she did so, for it was exactly what Sakura wanted.

("I can feel Destiny's arrival closing in." A young man had stated, his smooth voice accompanied by the crack of fire and the rustling of his companions. "The tournament is about to begin—preparations are in order, wouldn't you agree, Opacho?"

"Yes, Hao-sama!")

After she had regaled Sakura with the tale, the kunoichi buried herself in her stolen books, muttering _destinydestinydestiny_ under her breath as she dog-eared the old tomes. It hadn't taken her ten whole minutes before she closed the book shut with a loud snap, a wide smile blooming across her face.

She had turned to her loyal summoning, crouching down so she may slither onto her hand.

( _It's a star, and it's coming tonight_.)

And as Katsuyu regained her senses, an overbearing bright light flew above the three of them, blinding and shining and warning.


	4. Revelation

.

.

_**2000.01.19.** _

.

.

* * *

 _ **S**_ he traversed the small, abandoned park without a care, heavy book clenched between the naked skin of her upper arm and the polyester of her vest. Madara's footsteps echoed hers, fast and quick and barely audible. Both of their solid forms moved across the wooden area discreetly under the afternoon's sky, determined to not draw the attention of the resting living and deceased around them.

Sakura climbed the steep ledge of a hill, her heels digging up the blades of grass under her weight, and so did Madara's. Once at the top, the pair of shinobis reclined upon a stray bench which was situated under a strong, aged tree. She let out a sigh as the leaves offered her some form of protection against the rays of light, and a longing for home took her over—took even _him_ over.

They sat in silence, Madara and her, just watching, thinking, dreaming.

Sakura broke the silence with the rustle of pages. A thick tome was placed upon her thighs as she re-read some of the passages of her recently borrowed book.

"So," she slowly started, turning another page over. "I've talked to Asakura Yoh today; he got a surprise visit from the tournament's officials."

Sakura tapped a stray picture to draw the Uchiha's gaze to it. There, three Native Americans stood, covered in robes and patterns and feathers and metals. "Yoh claims one of them looked like this, and Katsuyu's reports add up to the description. Keep your eyes peeled for any sign of anything similar."

Madara crossed his arms over his chest, gazing into the sky with tinted eyes before a smirk painted his lips. He turned towards his partner, grabbing her scalp and turning it towards the heavens from the book. Sakura wanted to cry out at his bizarre actions, but her green eyes zeroed in on the flying figure heading their way instead.

She pushed the book onto the bench and stood up, and Madara placed both of his elbows on the stone backrest, relishing in the cool the stone emitted, the solid sensation Sakura's clone provided him.

(Sakura thought that they took their sweet time with informing her of the first rounds, and this power display was nothing else but another waste of her precious training hours.)

Madara grunted in response, agreeing with her trail of musings she lets slip to him.

The pinkette placed a cupped hand to her forehead as she squinted at the figure that grew in proximity with each passing second. Once the sight of traditional robes, glinting metals, and scorpion symbolism were as clear as that day's sky, Sakura scowled, taking a step back into the shade.

The man—for it was a male's figure hiding beneath the prints and materials—landed in front of her, just on the edge of the park's hill. His hand glowed in what she and Madara recognized as an Oversoul, and Sakura could tell that this was not just some random shaman whose hope was to knock her out of the tournament days after the opening bell rang.

It was such a nice, well-kept park, albeit abandoned and haunted and forgotten; Sakura did not wish to fracture it into pieces.

But, alas.

"I am Nichrom of the Patch tribe," the male spoke from behind his scorpion-esque mask in a slow, accented drawl, and Sakura felt a sense of eerie deja vu. "An official of the shaman fights in Tokyo."

Before she could utter a single letter, Nichrom reached for his mask, and Sakura half-expected to find scarlet locks and hazel eyes underneath but was met with an equally boyish face instead.

They stared at each other for a while, both observing one another, though Nichrom's gaze was far more intense as he examined the girl before him.

His tilted lips morphed into a pinch of confusion as he tried to comprehend how this girl could possible match the gathered data they had on one Haruno Sakura. Her measured strength alone reached baffling heights, yet Nichrom would never have associated the numbers with pink hair, green eyes, and diamond tattoos.

The only thing that reassured the official that this was indeed the girl was her more than fitting name.

Madara stood up as well, exiting the shadows as he did so. The Uchiha wore a frown as their—his and Haruno's clone's—common carcass went through a series of hand signs to cast a genjutsu over the park in fear of being witnessed by civilians.

The Patch official gazed at the dark-haired man with parted lips, wondering and inquisitive, for he sensed an oddity he hasn't witnessed before; the staggering amount of Furyoku the mystery male possessed mirrored the girl's _perfectly_.

With a seemingly outlandish gesture of her own, Sakura released the shadow clone in front of Nichrom and, in its wake, only Madara's spirit remained rooted in the same spot, glaring. Sakura shook her head wildly, clutching at her temples as her power seemed to double in its capacity, her figure buzzing with Furyoku.

Nichrom took a cautious step back, flabbergasted.

"Nichrom-san, was it?" Sakura called out, efficiently cutting off the bewildered retorts forming and clogging the Patch official's throat. "Are you here to gawk, or have you come to test me already?"

The kunoichi recalled the words Yoh had been told, figuring the male's speech to be identical to his companion's. Nichrom regained his composure, still wary and guarded, before stepping towards Sakura.

"It all depends," he tested the foreign words on his tongue, trying to mask the quiver in his voice. "Do you want these people to see the full glory of our true nature?" Nichrom questioned, motioning towards the small group of people not too far away.

The sunbeams ricocheted off the metal of his bracelet, making the kunoichi's feral smile more prominent in the light. "I wouldn't be too worried about them, Nichrom-san. They see and feel and hear nothing."

The Patch member stared at her with a blank face, wondering if the stoic ghost standing behind her provided her with abilities unbeknownst and unheard of to the Patch, or even to his own master.

Against his better judgement, Nichrom chose to take her word for it. So, with a sudden slash of his arm, he began his attack.

Madara sensed Nichrom's Furyoku flare before Sakura did, and the forceful Spirit Unity buckled her knees as the Uchiha seeped into her flesh like a chemical. The synchronized pair jumped high—higher than any human possibly could—out of the way of Nichrom's surprising onslaught. Sakura skittered away from the patch official, feeling slightly mournful for the park and bewildered by his speed. She was a tad bit surprised that she, unlike Yoh, was not equipped with the time to get ready as he had been, for the kunoichi felt her movements being restricted by her stiff pants.

(Sakura really needed a more practical battle outfit.)

(Madara sneered at her thought process in the middle of a fight.)

"So, what's the catch?" Sakura loathed and despised how low and masculine and _Madara-ish_ her voice sounded. "I'm having a hard time believing that we're just going to battle it out till the last one is left standing."

A slight laugh erupted from the Patch official as he reeled back his Oversoul whip. "No, far from it, actually." He graced the pinkette with a slow, calculated smirk. "You only need to land a single hit on me in the next three minutes."

Sakura blinked, and Madara paused at the revelation.

( _That's it?_ )

"Well, in that case." Sakura fished for her gloves, forming strategies in her merged mind as Madara dissected her thoughts and plans. "Prepare to get hit."

Nichrom slashed and hacked at her in response, and the molded form of Sakura and Madara jumped away each time with increasing speed. The Patch official stroke the stone bench Sakura had landed on, breaking it in two as the kunoichi evaded his attack by jumping on the tree branch above her. It creaked and tore ever so slightly under her weight, but the shaman and spirit did not lose balance.

Suddenly, the glowing scorpion Oversoul wrapped around her ankle amidst the leaves, tugging, pulling, _slamming_ her into the ground. Nichrom's face stretched into a pleasant smile as her form impacted the hill, and the collision caused a jolt to reverberated through his very bones. The sound, however, was loud and cracking, and Nichrom made the mistake of peeking behind his shoulder to see if Sakura hadn't lied about the people's inability to witness the exchange.

"Huh," Nichrom muttered under his breath, canceling his Oversoul as he walked towards the makeshift crater. "I guess she was telling the truth." The shaman official reached the center, which emitted more smoke than natural or normal. "Too bad, though—she still had a few seconds to spare—"

Nichrom's words died in his mouth, eyes wide, hands trembling.

The pink-haired shaman wasn't the one laying about, unmoving and wounded and shattered, but in her stead, a thick log rested by his feet. Nichrom knelt down hastily, touching the wood with a tentative hand.

How can this be?

( _I wouldn't be too worried about them, Nichrom-san. They see and feel and hear nothing._ )

The shaman's eyes widened in realization.

"Illusions? No, that's _impossible_ ," he mumbled to himself, brushing the wooden surface in thought. He knows of a single case of illusion casting from a shaman, and that would be Opacho.

 _Even then,_ Nichrom realizes with a frown. _It is not nearly as potent as this._

His eyes flickered to his metal bracelet for a brief second, and he squinted, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. He leaned down, seeing the reflection of the sky, but the pinkish dot growing in size was most certainly not supposed to be there.

Nichrom's head shot up, and he was almost certain he heard the crack of bone, but that did not matter at the moment. He saw her; leg raised high, face taut, eyes burning, and Nichrom didn't have enough time to evade.

Her heel went down, intentionally missing the official's form as it dug into the ground a meter away from him. As her limb collided with the hill, it cracked and fractured and broke into huge chunks of grass and soil and stone, efficiently burying Nichrom with the pieces.

He yelled out in pain and anguish as he fell into the cracks of the quaking ground, his form crushing and squashing between the hard fractures of earth. His eyes popped in panic as he felt his right arm go suspiciously numb before hysteric screams tore from his throat involuntarily.

He barely registered the gentle hands seizing him by his protruding shoulders, but once Sakura started to pull him out of her created mess, his screeches raised in volume and pain. The kunoichi winced, already separated from the brooding Uchiha and won. Sakura made eye contact with the spirit as she plucked the rest of Nichrom's body from the shattered earth, careful not to rattle and rip him further, and saw the disapproval there.

" _Of_!" The Patch official grunted out in a pained gasp, clutching his unfeeling limbs in hysteria and adrenaline. Even his guardian ghost, a great, giant scorpion, flew from Nichrom's dented bracelet, defensive and worried and panicked.

"Easy now," Sakura soothed the older male, placing her gloved fingers on his damaged arm but receiving only a painted hiss in retribution. "I'm a medic; I can help. Just trust me."

His eyes cracked open, locking on her determined and calming face for barely a second before managing a weak nod, and Sakura got to work. She placed him in a sitting position, careful not to push him over the edge once more.

"Can you feel your spine?" A grunt of affirmation. "What about your left side's limbs?" Another confirmation, overlapped by Madara's frustrated sigh. The Uchiha knew the reason behind Sakura's ill-willed decision; nothing good will come from killing a tournament official.

Madara scowled.

 _Still_ , he thought, clenching an unfeeling fist, _to reveal her abilities this early on.._

Madara disappeared with a flourish, choosing not to linger any further.

"Okay then," Sakura bobbed her head in contemplation, pink strands flying across her shoulders. "This may take a while."

The noon's sky had long since taken up a reddish hue when an oracle bell had landed in her outstretched, no longer glowing hand, matching the crimson, dark clouds floating in the air as Nichrom made his retreat, healed and humiliated and determined.

He examined his right hand; he made a fist, dug his nails into the tenderness of his palm, and frowned as he felt the blood pumping beneath his skin, the pain running through his nerves.

(Hao-sama will be most interested in this shaman, no doubt.)

* * *

.

.

_**2000.01.20.** _

.

.

* * *

 _ **S**_ akura remembered reading about the major wars of this world, how they had been fought with the use of advanced technology and poisonous weapons. She recalled feeling temperamental as she read of the bombs dropping down from the very heavens, of the feeling of unease and terror of countless families quivering in corners, hearing only the distant explosions littered across their hometowns. Sakura related to the feeling on a miniature level as she sensed it—the numerous spikes of Furyoku all across Tokyo; some small, some extraordinarily huge that even Madara spared a glance out the window. Sakura saw the Uchiha quickly retreating his gaze back to the oracle bell, as if unfazed, but Sakura knew, _knew_ , that he felt as worried as she.

Her grip on her current book tightened as another spike of power entered her senses, and, judging by the scattered nature the lurches obtained, Sakura figured that the examination was coming to a close.

It took another hour or two for the Furyoku signals to completely vanish into nothingness once more as orange started to bleed into the midnight blue sky.

"Did you know that half of your techniques derive from the mythology of this world?" Sakura's muffled voice resounded throughout her burnt-up house, and the unmistakable creaks of Madara's footsteps accommodated the unusual liveliness of their shared space. Her red oracle bell hung loosely in the Uchiha's grasp, instructions and guidelines glaring on the screen in inky black against illuminated white.

"Oh?" Madara let out an inquisitive sound, and Sakura's chest swelled in pride as she got up from the damaged floor.

( _Finally_ , Sakura thought, _I know more than the great Uchiha Madara._ )

"Don't flatter yourself," Madara snarked as he neared the staggered pinkette. "One rare occurrence does not equal months of lollygagging."

Sakura raised her hands in defense, presenting the thick tome in one, awaiting her oracle bell in the other. Madara sighed as they performed a quick trade. He reoccupied his side of the room, Sharingan glinting in interest as he took in the title ' _Shinto Religion_ ' before flipping through the aged pages.

Sakura, meanwhile, crumbled to the ground once more, fingertips pushing and pressing at the buttons of her newly-acquired contraption. The oracle bell mesmerized not only the kunoichi, but her guardian ghost as well, for neither has seen something so technologically advanced up-close before.

She picked off from where Madara was reading, further broadening her understanding of the tournament and its rules. She was four sections in before a text popped across the rectangular screen, reading ' _NEW MESSAGE_ ' in broad, digital letters. Sakura's brows shot up in surprise, her head whipping to her companion's direction.

"Madara, come here for a sec," Sakura called out, eyes fixated on the glowing screen. He was next to her in mere seconds, hovering above her form. Sakura pressed her lips together as the letters rearranged, and the name of ' _ **UMEMIYA RYUNOSUKE**_ ' appeared in bold.

Madara stared at the screen, mouth curling knowingly, eyes flashing in content, and Sakura felt a surge of apprehension. She tugged the bell closer to herself, examining the name once more, awaiting for further instructions. It sounded oddly familiar to her, but she could not, for the life of her, pinpoint where she had heard it before.

As Madara placed the tome upon their makeshift table, and the kunoichi continued to study the tournament's guidelines, both shinobi failed to notice the flicker of their candle fire, until it was too late.

A shrill, blood-curling scream resounded through the patched-up house, and the pair turned their eyes towards the staircase, startled, but mostly confused. As Sakura realized that it was the boy in the tub, Madara was already heading up to check up on the other occupant of their space. Sakura waited a minute or two until the burnt house became quiet once more. She heard the distinctive sound of footsteps creaking as the legendary ninja emerged from the second floor, his bright, red eyes dimming to their usual onyx.

"Interesting," Madara mumbled to himself, placing a gloved hand beneath his pointed chin. "It would seem we have something in common with the previous residents of this household."

Sakura only blinked, leaned closer to her partner's form, awaiting further information, but getting nothing in turn.

* * *

.

.

**_2000.01.20._ **

.

.

* * *

 _ **S**_ akura's teeth grazed her lower lip, reddened with worry and nerves. She pulled the hood further over her head, masking the pastel strands of hair from view. Her fingers timidly run over the ruined tome resting in her grasp.

 _There goes my chance of borrowing something from him again_ , Sakura thought, dejected and defeated. She had fished out the poor book from the rubble and soil of the battlefield and was perplexed to find that the only thing that kept the pages together was a single piece of string.

She signed as she crossed another alleyway, taking the shortest route to the Asakura household as she did. Her fellow shaman had kindly invited her to bask in their small victory over the tournament officials, and Sakura took up the offer without missing a single beat. When the only person one had for company was the Uchiha ghost, they were bound to lose their morals or minds. Sakura fully intended to keep both.

Her boot made contact with a stray puddle as she quickened her pace before a sudden chill stopped her completely.

Sakura turned, slowly, hastily to glance behind her shoulder. She felt it; the freezing cold of the invisible matter she had grown so accustomed to, only more prominent— _thicker_. As Sakura closed her emerald eyes, she sensed another presence lurking about, too alive and too strong and too _human_ to be a mere ghost. Her fingers, nimble and subtle, moved to caress the small monument tucked inside the pocket of her vest, nails grazing the curvature of the Uchiha symbol. It felt cold and vacant to the touch, and Sakura knew that the Uchiha was nowhere near her location.

He had decided to sit out of her little visit with the alibi of finding out more about her upcoming opponent. But Sakura deemed that to be untrue, for Yoh knew all about this Umemiya Ryunosuke, and Madara was aware—too aware of _everything_ to not have known that.

(" _Take pity on him, okay, Sakura-san?_ " Yoh's voice had sounded nervous and awkward through the handset of the payphone.)

Sakura frowned. If Madara was not the one with her, then he must be testing her, one way or another. He had a tendency to do that, she knew. So, with a deep breath, Sakura reopened her eyes, pink eyelashes shielding from the afternoon sun entering the narrow passageway.

She thought about her next step carefully, barely stopping her hand from reaching for her Kunai knife tucked behind her belt.

 _No_ , Sakura paused while pursing her lips. _Physical attacks cannot touch a ghost—I need Madara_.

Who was not here, and Sakura started to wonder if this was the reason for his absence.

Did he know something she did not?

Sakura could barely suppress a snort because _of course_ he did.

 _But_ , she gazed at the other entity, at the barely visible outline of what she could only deem to be a _child_. _What am I to do, then_?

Her teeth nibbled on the sensitive flesh of her cheek as she realized this was exactly what he wanted her to figure out—how to handle spirits without his aid.

But did she really need to _handle_ a _spirit_ of a _child_?

She took off her hood in thought, deciding on a different approach, letting a curtain of pink hair cascade down her face. "Hey!"

Her voice seemingly startled the matter from its reverie, and the slight shift of it made the outlines sharper, more vibrant and alive in their appearance. Soon, the image of a small, African girl, her timid frame concealed by an orange cloak, appeared before the kunoichi.

She widened her eyes. It really _was_ just a child staring down at her with vacant, dark eyes.

"Can you hear me?" Sakura tried, stepping towards the floating ghost, careful not to move too suddenly. "Why are you following me?"

The kunoichi long-since realized that it wasn't the first time today she felt the ominous cold grazing her skin, and had put two and two together. Ghosts didn't usually leave their haunting grounds for anything. Unless...

"Who sent you?" Sakura questioned, mouth coloring with ire and frustration at the lack of answers she was receiving. She figured that the small, dark-skinned girl was either, improbably, a simple spirit who has grown attached to her energy, or a guardian ghost, sent to stalk the pinkette's moves.

Judging from the freshness of her presence, Sakura knew that the latter was far more probable.

"Hao-sama."

Her whisper was quiet and distorted, yet Sakura had caught it loud and clear. The answer, however, did little to diminish the concerned wrinkle in Sakura's brow. Far from it, actually—it made her _frightened,_ for it was a name even _Madara_ felt weary of.

Asakura Hao, from what she and Madara had gathered, was a champion among shamans. A practically immortal being—one who aspired to Godhood. They had read of his conquests; tournament after tournament, _semi-millennia_ after _semi-millennia_ , he had fought and almost, _almost_ , won the crown through his sheer power alone—twice. Her guardian ghost had casually assumed, based on past entries, that they'll be seeing him up and kicking once more, but Sakura had interpreted the statement as a joke due to his light-hearted tone.

Now, though, standing before his ethereal messenger, the kunoichi was sure of two things.

(One: Madara does not possess an ounce of humor within his soul.

Two: The legendary Asakura Hao—if it really _was_ the same Hao—has returned once more for the title of King.)

Somehow, that did absolutely _nothing_ to soothe the raging nerves brewing inside her belly. The very notion that she will have to fight against someone similar in caliber to Madara or Kaguya just to return _home_ —it made her ache and fret and want to concede, to _surrender_.

Sakura frowned further at her weakened resolve before steeling herself once more.

"And what does he want from me?"

There was a slight pause from the transparent specter.

(" _Tell her he wants to meet you,_ " a voice whispered into Opacho's ear, gloved palm smoothening out the coils of her hair.)

"Whatever for?" Sakura questioned, bewildered, not knowing what to make of the little girl's declaration.

(Hao smiled, gently pressing his cheek to the little girl's soft mane as he whispered.)

"To determine if you are truly worthy of ruling by his side."

And if Sakura's jaw dropped, just a little, Hao was kind enough not to project his chuckle through Opacho at her reaction.


	5. Rationalization

.

.

_**2000.01.20.** _

.

.

* * *

 _ **S**_ akura could not stop thinking about it. About _him_ and his messenger and his words and— 

She should stop. She really should. But even as she sat opposite of Yoh, her thoughts kept wandering to his predecessor.

 _What is he like?_ Sakura mused behind her steaming cup of tea. She stared at the young Asakura, at his dark brown locks, even darker eyes, and tanned skin as she contemplated asking about his family's common attributes, but decided against it. Her inquiry was too outlandish, too out of the blue for it to not require answering questions she wasn't sure she's supposed to.

So, no—Sakura did not ask her friend a single thing about Asakura Hao. Rather, she focused her attention on a safer topic: Umemiya Ryunosuke.

Yoh, at the mention of his unlikely friend, raised his eyebrows, seemingly confused still at his intentions of fighting in the tournament as well. After a moment of inner conflict, with a slight roll of his shoulder, he simply said once more:

"Honestly, all I can say is—you don't have to worry much? I mean, Ryuu seems like a great guy, but in terms of being a shaman.."

Sakura's tongue burned in boiling liquid and curiosity, but she didn't voice any of her wonders: not about Ryunosuke, or about Asakura Hao.

 _Asakura Hao_.

The name made her shiver, but the hand suddenly engulfing hers caused her head to shoot up.

"Hey, you can talk about your worries with me, y'know?" Yoh's words were accompanied with the squeeze of her fingers, and Sakura felt more at ease than she had been for months now.

She smiled, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding, before puffing out another white lie: "Of course." After a beat, as the heat expanded from their connected hands beneath her skin, Sakura remembered one of their previous conversations. "By the way, is Mosuke still up for the task?"

Sakura had previously heard the tale of the two samurai friends and their untimely deaths, but what truly caught hers and, in response, Madara's attention was the level of craftsmanship Mosuke was— _is_ —capable of. With them not having anything to perform an Oversoul on—

(Madara had scoffed at her kunai suggestion, and the gunbai was too eccentric for Sakura's taste.)

—the pair decided on a simple sickle as their symbol of union.

"Oh yeah! Anna had opened up a small gateway for him after the Tokageroh incident, and I'd made sure Amidamaru talked with him about your request on the hill; it should be good to go whenever you're up for it."

Yoh gave her a bright smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes, and Sakura couldn't help but to absorb his warmth, squeezing his fingers in turn, endeared and grateful.

And that was the scene that Kyoyama Anna walked into, and the kunoichi was sure—more sure than anything in her entire life—that not even Madara could guard her from the impending pain she was about to endure.

Later, as she nursed her injuries in the safety of her hideaway, she was consoled by her guardian ghost. She begrudgingly and suspiciously retold the tale of her meeting with the floating girl to her companion, searching his transparent face for any clues and slips, but finding only the slight crease of brows. That night, Sakura didn't allow herself the warmth of a fire, for she feared Madara's theory to be true.

"That does confirm it, does it not?" The Uchiha's voice ringed out in the silence; quiet, cutting. Sakura felt a spark of ire inflaming her face in response. Her fist clenched with shaking nerves and uncovered fears as she placed her forehead on her knee, trying to recollect herself in a time of deep worry.

Maybe it was the distinct memory of Kaguya, or the waffling power of the ghost before her, so strong and dark and revolutionary, that caused the shaman to shake and fret after everything she had previously faced. For, the truth was: the prospect of Hao scared her.

She didn't want to face off with another godly being, to fight and feel her heart miss a beat.

Then another. And another—

Her lungs constricting, fists feeling as if they were too weak and numb and far away to land a punch, teeth scraping and clenching until her gums ached.

(" _They've written camp songs about your bravery, Sakura-sama!_ ")

The words of Katsuyu echoed in her head, as if a serpent coiling around her ear.

Where was that famed courage people back home propagandized about her? The fearless resolve that made them carve her resemblance from stone and marble? Sakura knew, deep down, that, in truth, Naruto was her courage, Sasuke her resolve, and without them at her side, her drive to achieve her goal was weakened and fleeting.

As she sat there, panting in the moonlight, the kunoichi realized that she could just—

 _Forget_.

Forget about lush trees and stony mountains and swirled whirlwinds. About the faces that blur at the seams after so many months; deteriorating with her memory of times seemingly long-past.

She could create a new life for herself—she was capable of many feats in this limitled world—with people like Yoh.

She could just fling and smash the bell tied around her forearm, perish the thought of Asakura Hao far, far away; make him a distant dream that sours her stomach and mouth and soul. She could banish the ghost yet to leave her side, to force him to look for other alternatives to achieve his wicked end.

It was almost _that_ easy and painless and effortless.

Almost.

She bit her lip at her self-created temptation, but the longing for home, her _real_ home, and not this polluted metal jungle and its imprudent inhabitants was steering her in the way of hardship and pain and death again.

Sakura did not belong here; her heart had been left on the battlefield she was torn away from. With Naruto and Sasuke and Kakashi and the rest.

She desperately wanted to return to her own world, even if it meant facing dangerous foes once more.

Sakura, spurred by her momentary conviction, glared up at Madara through pink lashes.

"Tell me, Madara," she mumbled beneath her breath, lips brushing against scrapped skin. "Tell me everything you know about Asakura Hao. I need to know—now more than ever."

Madara paused.

 _She was frightened_ , and Madara started to realize her resolve was slowly, but surely, cracking. As he looked down at her, weak and frail as she looked in that position, pink hair shielding her face as she hugged her legs, the legendary ninja knew he had to say something.

Anything.

So he did.

"Sakura," Madara said with a start, hand ghosting above the crown of her head as he leaned down. "There is intelligence and precaution in your eyes—and for good reason." He walked around her, looking through the cracked window into the suburban street behind it, the lamps from outside muting his transparent silhouette. Sakura burned holes in his back, trying to figure out where this conversation was heading.

She gulped down the gathered saliva as he turned his head ever so slightly to take in her form. Bruised and intent and cautious.

"Many had died by my hand; many you had known." The statement caused the kunoichi to intake a sharp breath, the wound yet to fully heal feeling itchy and sore and gaping. "Before you even ask, no—I do not regret any single one of the lives I stole, for I fought for a cause in which I believed to be true."

Sakura knew that—of course she already knew that. She had fought a war against the means to achieve his end. She had drained herself dry for it, and the effect of it could still be felt in her bones. But hearing it from him, the actual words tumbling from his mouth, made her eyes steel and her jaw click shut. Faces of those long gone flashed before her eyes, of those who were taken by Madara—directly or otherwise. She felt a shudder running down her spine as he neared her, the room and atmosphere and them becoming colder, more distant, causing Sakura to fold her arms across her chest in defense as she leaned up to face him.

Madara clicked his tongue as he stood before her again, anger coloring his mouth at the sight of her cowering. "Do not dare to play coy or ignorant with me, Haruno. You have forgotten what you are, it would seem, first and foremost—"a pause"— _A shinobi_."

As if feeling the jab physically, Sakura hung her head at the word and everything it truly entailed, and Madara couldn't suppress a snarl.

"Do not lie by saying you hadn't taken dozens of lives yourself, completely disregarding the sorrows of their close ones as you did so. And for what? For the satisfaction of the Elders and the Daimyō's amusement? Or it for your teacher's approval? Your own instinctual preservation?" Every remark, every bite made her teeth dig harder into the tender flesh of her cheek.

Silence.

"Sakura, you and I are the same."

She just wanted _silence_.

He touched her face with phantom fingers, and Sakura _allowed_ him to do so, eyes screwing shut, missing the tenderness seeping into Madara's harsh gaze.

"We kill our enemies without a string of sentiment; we weep for the ones we actually cherish. We fight and we murder and we die in the name of what we believe to be right. That is the way of the shinobi—always has been." His schooling wrapped around Sakura's brain and heart and nerves, the definition so logical and familiar and compliant that it made the kunoichi see things from a slightly different light as she casted her reopened gaze into his onyx eyes, so raw and humane at that very moment.

"You feel resentment towards me for the ones I've taken from you in the name of my version of peace, but it is _you_ who had stolen the thing most precious to me—my _life_."

Her lips parted in silent shock, throat too enclosed and dry to retort, for there was nothing she could say to that as Madara crouched down to her eye level, tone shifting to a freezing, sudden drawl.

"Do you truly think you're the only one who hates the other? Who wants nothing more than to get rid of their presence for everything they had done to them? You're not gullible nor naive—don't start now," he warned as he placed a weightless hand on her shoulder, as he usually did to get his point across.

(Sakura realized, at that moment, how truly and utterly she has gotten used to the Uchiha's quirks and nature and presence—

Madara was just as astounded and wary as she was.)

"I don't have any illusions of how you regard me, Madara." Sakura finally found her voice as she stared at his face, sneer marring her own. "We function the same, yes. But you've done me a great deal of personal harm—as did I."

Sakura raised her chin at him, willing her mouth to finally breach the conversation she was trying to bring up for weeks now.

"That's our true problem: we've grown accustomed to one another, we learned to work together, but our personal feelings are in the way. We—" Sakura licked her lips, suddenly dry and chapped and unable to move. "—We need to set our hurt aside for the tournament's sake. Make this dimension a middle ground of sorts; otherwise, we'll never succeed due to the wounds we caused one another."

Madara raised an eyebrow in admission, his ghostly grasp seemingly tightening against her shoulder blade.

"Are you aware of your own implication?" He asked, voice slow and cautious, as if speaking to a startled, confused beast.

"Of allowing you to host a living body again?" Sakura didn't wait for him to nod as she hung her head in realized shame, the longing for Team 7 and Tsunade and everyone _finally_ overpowering her _everything_ , including her morality. "Yeah, I am."

Sakura found Madara's gaze again, and even with him towering over her, she felt a shift in the air. A shift between the both of them that felt cementing and democratic and finalized. In the dying night, in the place they made their own, the shaman and spirit reached a mutual agreement, no matter how fragile and uncertain and deceptive.

But then, the the Uchiha suddenly decided to ruffle the blanket of silence. He stood up, hair brushing his porcelain skin as he ran his gloved fingers across his lids. Madara exhaled softly, and the kunoichi awaited his next words, for she knew how hard it was for the proud spirit to cooperate and open up to his _inferior_ partner, no matter how important or simplifying it was to their cause.

"At this stage, hopefully you have already realized that I wouldn't endanger the only means to achieve that—which would be you," he clarified. "The only reason I ever do withhold information from you is to give you the opportunity of individual growth and learning. If we were to ever become truly leveled as we need to be in order to win, you cannot be spoon-fed everything, no matter how frustrating or daunting it may seem."

The kunoichi could only nod begrudgingly, a sigh of her own escaping her lips in silent defeat. She filtered out his words, a slight smile blooming on her face as she registered that Madara was trying to _comfort_ and _reassure_ her.

And that meant something.

"But as you so wished to know this time, regarding Asakura Hao," Madara took no satisfaction at the kunoichi's jolt at the mentioned name. His stare was unwavering, ghostly form vibrant as he looked around the burnt-down house. "I was correct—it truly was him who burned this house to the ground, with the boy and his parents still inside. The child identified him, as well, so there can be no further doubt about it."

Their eyes stayed locked as Madara added, voice rueful and almost _excited:_ "The legend of the Shaman kingdom has returned to fight once more; he's the real deal, Haruno—I hope you are ready."

Sakura was speechless.

Speechless and dumbstruck and resilient.

She looked up at the ceiling, hole-riddled and destroyed. She got up on her feet as well; to walk past the phantom form of her guardian ghost, to stride up those steps she needed to reach the bathroom. Sakura raised her leg to climb the stairs, but hesitated.

"You know," Sakura called out to Madara, who watched her with a bemused expression on his aristocratic face. "I don't really believe in coincidences, so you better fess up now—unless you want to render our previous conversation void."

The legendary shinobi listened intently as she gathered her wits.

"Did you know, from the very beginning, when you found this place for me to take shelter in, that this fire was his doing?" Sakura's voice didn't waver, and Madara rubbed his eyelids once more, pinching his nose bridge with gloved fingertips, as if to fight off a headache.

(Sakura didn't think ghosts could develop migraines.

Madara believed she was a special case.)

"No," came his curt answer as he stepped towards the bandaged pinkette. The filtering morning light was starting to seep through the cracks in the walls, making Madara blur and fade in his explanation.

"The only thing I was aware of during the time was the tragedy that had befallen a powerful shaman family living between these walls. Knowing the nature of this house's previous occupants, I assumed it would be a safe place for the likes of another shaman to reside in." Madara came closer to his companion, tone truthful, face open. Sakura was enthralled.

"I had only heard whispers and rumors from the other spirits around me, of a roaring fire caused by their kin for incompliance, but never assumed to believe it was directly linked to Asakura." Madara paused for a beat. "Until after our examination, that is. It would appear Hao's fire burns corrupt within the Council; to little surprise, as it was."

_Examination. Council._

Sakura repeated in her mind as she recalled scorpion spirits and shattered ground and green light. Indeed, after that incident, the kunoichi _had_ noticed a rise in ghostly activity surrounding her and her home. She had thought nothing of it; Sakura had presumed that the constant presence she felt was due to the tournament's sounding bell, and not the product of her encounter with Nichrom.

But the shrieking boy in the tub and Madara's confession left no room for Sakura to doubt anymore, and her legs nearly buckled.

(Why? _Whywhywhy_?)

 _Why me, of all people?_ Sakura despaired quietly as she ran her fingers through short, pink strands.

(He wants to meet you.)

Nothing and everything made sense to the medic-nin as she slumped down on the frail stairs, Madara quickly at her side. He reclined besides her, two steps above, frowning lightly as he did so when his weight didn't cause a single creak from the burnt plank.

(He wants you to rule at his side.)

Sakura met her partner's eyes as they both sat there in silence, mulling through Sakura's brief interaction as the morning sun cascaded through the holes of their makeshift home. The pinkette looked up once more, half-expecting, half-fretting the little boy's screams to rip through again.

( _He wants to marry you._ )

"Well, fuck."

"Hn."

* * *

.

.

_**2000.01.27.** _

.

.

* * *

 ** _S_** he had found out, pretty early on, that people always end up in a place they never expect to be.

For Sakura, that place came in the form of Team 7's deadlock, together and whole again against all raging odds. It was the splintering headache within her scalp caused by the Goddess' doujutsu, the change of scenery and self and soul. It was the crude chill running down her very core every time she let Uchiha _Madara_ seep into her flesh and bones.

Sakura never expected to be in any of those situations—ever again or in her wildest dreams.

Yet the extraordinary kept presenting themselves to her: this time, in the form of yet _another_ proposal, and Sakura was too baffled and dumbfounded to even feel Madara let go of their synchronization.

In the bleak mid-winter night, Umemiya Ryunosuke pledged his heart to one Haruno Sakura, and none of the observers were the least bit surprised. Sakura could have sworn that she heard Manta sigh from his place at the edge of the battlefield, but paid no mind as she placed her guard up once more.

"Umemiya-san," the kunoichi called out warily as her guardian ghost deemed this battle over. "Get up."

The tall man got up from one knee, dejected and heartbroken as he threw away the bouquet of roses to the side. Where he got it from, Sakura had no clue. As she glanced at her companion, she wasn't surprised to see him looking utterly unamused and unimpressed at the display.

"Get on with it, already!" The voice of Manta resounded through the concrete area, and Ryunosuke tried to get his bearings back. Yoh just laughed at the scene as he and Amidamaru sat on the ground a safe distance away, already knowing that their opening fight would turn out this way.

"Does this mean you are going to forfeit, Umemiya Ryunosuke?" Sakura turned her head to the source of the voice, and met Nichrom's eyes as she did so. She looked at him, long and hard, not bothering to shield her disdain and suspicion as he clicked his tongue. "We don't have all day."

"No!" Ryu replied, shaking his head to get rid of his woman-induced trance. He grabbed his wooden sword in a firm grip, a single tear of heartbreak rolling down his cheek.

Tokageroh looked tired.

Sakura wholeheartedly felt for him.

"Madara," Sakura called out softly, gripping the sickle attached to her hip. "Oversoul?"

Madara's eyes flashed in content, and Sakura took that as an invitation.

The Uchiha ghost's form started to ripple and blend and mold into a blinding light, all blue and hot and freezing. Sakura wondered if, perhaps, a normal human could see the brilliance of him in the distance, shining like a beacon in her gloved hand.

"Okay," the medic-nin breathed out as she pushed and pressed his essence into the gleaming metal of the short weapon in her other hand, watching in awe as the sickle shone in power and phantom flame, expanding and cutting.

Sakura felt pride bubbling in her throat as she maneuvered the weapon to rest at her side, the week-long practice and training conducted to form a stable Oversoul finally paying off.

(Madara was all frowns and grimaces when he learnt that the _Asakura brat_ had mastered his Oversoul in a single _fight_.

Sakura thought he was being unfair and unreasonable: it took a lot of effort for Sakura to handle the force of nature that was Madara and his chakra— _Furyoku._ )

But as the battlefield lit up at both ends, Sakura struck first, unwavering and controlled.

She pumped the soles of her feet with chakra, feeling herself becoming faster, lighter. Ryu barely had the time to block the force of Sakura's hit, grunting as he focused to withstand the powerful Oversoul pushing against his own.

In that moment, blinded by the blue light of the other shaman's weapon, Ryu felt as if he was fighting Yoh-dono once more; the feeling of bafflement, confusion, and frustration fueled the older man with new-found resolve at the prospect of being beaten by an unknown advantage of his adversary again.

"Tokageroh!" Ryu called out, bracing himself as he shifted his feet for a better stance. Sakura, in response, acted fast, not allowing the taller man to gain an edge. She laced her foot with even more power, digging her heel into Ryunosuke's thigh to launch herself off of him and gain some distance.

"Gah!" Ryu managed out as he clutched at his aching muscle, surprise and shock dashing his face a pale color.

 _This woman is like a beast in maiden's clothes!_ Ryu thought as his sweat-laced palm readjusted its grip on his Oversoul. He looked down at his weapon, feeling his guardian ghost shifting.

"Ryu!" Tokageroh yelled out, a single eye emerging from the phantom mass hovering above the wooden blade. "Don't get distracted! I really, _really_ don't like the feel of that ghost; he's off-putting."

And it wasn't just the thief feeling unsettled by the pinkette's companion, but Amidamaru as well.

The samurai prided himself for his good instincts, and even though the new edition to Yoh's group of friends, in the form of one Haruno Sakura, stomped out the worry of deceit, her guardian ghost had not inspired much trust or ease among the gathered shaman and their phantom friends.

Amidamaru watched on, face taut and grim as the hell-fire blazing in Sakura's hand roared, overwhelming and powerful and dark.

 _Madara_ , she had called him, and Yoh and he finally knew what type of companion the pinkette kept to during the early winks of nightfall. They had mulled over and made a game of guessing in the past, for Sakura never came around with her guardian ghost trailing about.

 _And for good reason_ , Amidamaru thought with unease, for the ghost integrated into Mosuke's weapon is something else entirely.

He felt strong and lively beyond all reasons, which made no sense, because he wasn't a spirit of nature, either. No, this Madara had been _human_ once, just like Amidamaru, but the samurai doubted he'll ever be on par with the suffocating mass Sakura's phantom spirit was able to produce without even _trying_.

And that _worried_ him, but Yoh didn't seem to mind too much.

(And that made Amidamaru fret even more.)

He wanted the Asakura fledgling to succeed in his fight for the crown, to aid him to the best of his capabilities, but even he cannot argue with statistics.

Haruno Sakura— _even if she did try to hide it well, it appeared_ —and her guardian ghost were on a league of their own, and Amidamaru tried to push back the feeling of worry and anticipation of the gruelling fights waiting ahead of him and Yoh.

And as the samurai refocused his attention to the battle up ahead, Ryu howled in pain as Sakura's sickle skimmed through his forearm.

"She's not holding back," Yoh observed, a worried edge curving his mouth. Amidamaru nodded in agreement, but his master was too enthralled and locked on the fight to glance his way to notice.

"I believe she should not attempt to finish Ryu's journey permanently, Yoh-dono," Amidamaru voiced his thoughts, flinching a tad as said shaman staggered to his knee, barely clutching at his control and his weapon and his spirit.

"No," Yoh answered after a minute, surprising Amidamaru who looked down at his sitting form. "Sakura is really strong, you know? I think this is as gentle as she can get with a spirit like that in her hands."

And Amidamaru cannot deny that one bit. Even if his senses had been heightened in the afterlife, making him more sensitive to the energy floating in between realms, he never bothered to become as proficient in sensory as the shaman tournament officials and their hereditary ghosts were.

But he did not need to posses any special skills to feel the _frightening_ levels of Furyoku flowing through, not only the dark-haired ghost, but _Sakura,_ as well, as they engage with their opponent.

"Let us finish this," Madara's voice boomed through the crisp night's air, and Sakura complied. She gripped the sickle with two gloved hands, bringing the Oversoul behind her back to maximize the force and speed of her next blow.

Ryunosuke, however pained and beaten, was not going to go down so easily, so _quickly_. He dove to his bruised knees to avoid the cut-throat attack, and it was _fine_ , and he was alive, but—

"My _hair!_ " Ryu wailed, clutching at the flying strands in despair. He nearly lost spirit control at the sight, but the bark of Tokageroh snapped him out of his sorrow.

"Pull it together, man!" The mass enveloping his sword yelled, annoyed and scared and frustrated. Ryu sobered up, pulling himself to his leather shoes with a groan to face the idle kunoichi once more.

"Tokageroh," the tall man called out, inflaming their Oversoul with a new-found vigor. "We need to channel the river monster once more to prevail against this Goddess!"

Both kunoichi and ghost perked up at the proclaim, and even Madara put his guard up to withstand any unsuspecting tricks the seemingly weak shaman may possess up his ridiculous sleeves. Ryu's wooden sword glinted great purple as his guardian spirit agreed to his plan, charging up another round of attack against Sakura. He closed his eyes in concentration, willing the Serpent Spirit to aid him in his time of great need.

("Has anyone told Ryu he can allow himself to loose one battle if he wins his other two?"

"Nah," came Yoh's response to his short friend, and Manta sighed in exasperation.)

The wooden sword in Ryunosuke's grip gleamed, and Sakura raised her sickle to shield herself from the upcoming clash, molding Madara's form and matter to resemble an armored plate as he himself rose out of the weapon.

" _Arise_! Join us now, Yamata no Orochi!" Blinding white tentacles emerged from the purple Oversoul, powerful and bright and all-consuming, and Sakura—

Sakura snorted. Madara scoffed in irony.

Ryu didn't notice.

He pumped all of his Furyoku into the union, and the wisps of light formed great snake heads in response, biting, hissing, venomous. Sakura braced herself for the collision, and Madara seeped out on his own volition, meeting the Legendary Serpent's force with dexterity.

 _He's strong,_ Sakura gritted her teeth as Orochimaru's namesake tried to bite at Madara's forming neck and head and shoulder as their Oversoul grew. _But, unfortunately, Madara is the worst opponent for it_.

And she was right, for in her hands, she wielded the power of Susanoo, the slayer of the very beast Ryu was channeling.

Madara ate away at her Furyoku, until his silhouette hovered above the sickle; regal and armored and god-like. The Yamata no Orochi shrieked in fury, recognition shining in all eight pairs of eyes that were trained on their opponent, and lunged at the pair of shinobis, both living and dead.

"Umemiya Ryunosuke," Madara addressed, a blade of blue fire melting into his gloved hand. "You have just enable history to repeat itself."

And before the shaman could retort his confusion, Sakura—and Madara—slashed their weapons, and the sickly sound of flesh meeting the hard soil of the ground rang through the field eight times, signalling the end of the battle.

Silence.

Ryu fell to the ground, then; spirit control lost, Furyoku drained, hairstyle ruined.

And Nichrom was quick to hail Haruno Sakura the victor of her first official shaman fight.

She released the union between her and the Uchiha ghost afterwards, and puffed out a sigh of relief and ease as the drain of him receded from her bones. Hooking the sickle back in place on her hip, she turned to her partner to direct him a gracious smile at their win.

But Madara wasn't looking at her, and she followed his gaze to the tree lines.

Sakura paused.

There, in the distance, amidst tall spruces and thick trunks, a great, giant claw floated in the air, its density warming the air around them. The bright pink light obscured the figure lounged in between its fingers in the darkness, but Sakura _knew_.

 _Hao_.

Yet, before the medic-nin could take a single step towards the intruding figure, the light and the claw and _him_ faded out of existence, as if what she had just witnessed was only a trick of the eye.

But Madara's jaw was still clenched, Sharingan flaming in the dark, and Sakura reassured herself she hadn't imagined it.

 _He was watching the fight,_ she concluded, gloved hands tightening into fists as she drowned out the chatter of her new-found friends approaching her into the back of her mind. _How long will it take for him to face me himself?_

"Sooner than you think," Madara answered her worries, as if reading her mind, following the form of Nichrom retreating into the forest as well.

An uncomfortable stillness settled in.

"So," Sakura started awkwardly. "Are you going to leave me by myself again?"

A smirk.

"Thought so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Hao and Sakura finally meet face to face. 
> 
> Also, I found it quite funny how Susanoo is the God that slayed Ryu's Yamata no Orochi, so wanted Sakura and Madara to symbolically go against that. Hope you guys liked it!


End file.
